


Kinktober 2017, And Other Tales

by rachhell



Category: South Park
Genre: AKA, All aboard the express train to hell, BDSM, Begging, Bondage, Chaos/Mysterion, Consensual Kink, Crying, Cuckolding, Deepthroating, Dirty Talk, F/F, F/M, Frottage, Gun play, Humiliation, I Tried, Kinktober 2017, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Orgasm Denial, Pegging, Public Sex, Repressed Mormon Boys oh dear, Rimming, S M U T, Safewords, Sex Toys, Sexting, Sleepy Sex, Swingers, Threesome - F/M/M, Top Drop, Why I'm going to hell, actor!tweek gives me life, craig is bad at the dirty talk, cross-dressing, gender neutral wendy, i am a dialog slut, make room for me in HELL, oh heck, wendy is canonically gender neutral anyway if we're counting TFBW, you can't join mathletes that's social suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-29
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-01-18 02:12:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 53,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12378732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rachhell/pseuds/rachhell
Summary: Move along, nothing to see here except gratuitous smut.Unrelated smutty South Park oneshots, some with plot, some without. The vast majority of these will be Creek, but there will be other pairings, too. each pairing, as well as warnings pertaining to the chapter, will listed at the beginning of each. let's just pretend that these were finished properly and on time. i am tagging everything now, before it's even up; and, posting the chapters as i finish them, probably out of order and very, very late. what, you think I'm some kind of conformist?Formerly Kinktober 2017: More Like Kinkvember but I renamed it because it's taking forever and getting out of hand. It's not even 2017 anymore.





	1. day one - sleepy sex (creek)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Creek. Sleepy sex on prom night. If someone would be so kind as to draw Tweek and Craig in their prom tuxedos for me, that would make my life complete.

Craig's bow tie is untied, the laces of his dress shoes flopping about, and the jacket of his rented tuxedo is nowhere to be found on him. Instead, it is slung over Tweek's shoulders like a blanket. The digital clock on Craig's nightstand, as he collapses upon his bed without removing a stitch of clothing, reads 4:36 a. m. There was dancing, and drinking, and the after party full of emotional confessions from people they'd both known their whole lives, and crying girls in evening gowns with half-undone updos and mascara running down their cheeks, and more drinking, and more dancing.... and Craig cannot wait to sleep. Since their arrival at Token's house, after the end of the dance, he has felt drained, exhausted even. Crowds and large events have never really been his thing, but he wanted to be there for Tweek, who seemed to have the absolute best time of his life from the moment he first laid eyes on Craig in his tuxedo in the early evening, to the moment they waved their final goodbyes to their friends at dawn.

Tweek, having flung both Craig's and his own jacket over the back of Craig's computer chair, is staring at him from near the foot of the bed with wide, waiting eyes and a furrowed brow. In contrast to Craig, he is still riding the social high, and is wide awake. "Craig! Are you really gonna... _Gah_.. fucking Christ, man, it's our  _senior_ _prom night_ , we can't just go to sleep!"

"Ugh, why not? It's like _five,_ " Craig drawls, pressing the heels of his hands to his tired eyes. "Fuckin' prom... gay-ass, stupid traditions. Fucking...corsages and punch and bullshit." He knows he isn't making much sense, given that he isn't even speaking in complete sentences, but he doesn't care. God, is he ever ready for bed.

Tweek makes a disapproving clicking noise, undoing the buttons of his dress shirt, leaving it on and open, his eyes fixed upon Craig. Any other time, Craig would stare with rapt attention as he undressed himself, taking in every part of his boyfriend's body, beautiful every time despite how often he saw it. But today, his eyes were so heavy, and his bed was so comfortable, and the light was just so damn  _bright_ that he just couldn't.

"Damn it, Tweek... we can screw whenever, if that's what you mean. Turn the light off, and get in bed."

Tweek does, wrapping himself around Craig, but making no move to join Craig in potential slumber. He feels Tweek's lips upon him, on his neck, on the expanse behind his ear that Tweek knows drives him crazy when licked, or bit, or kissed, and Tweek, that little bastard, is doing all three.

"I think you can still fuck me." Tweek's voice is soft and quiet against Craig's ear, sending shivers down his spine. His hair is like silk under Craig's hands, and his hand, groping Craig's dick through his tuxedo trousers, is warm and  _squeezing_ and god. It feels good, so good. Maybe Craig can try to stay up.

Despite his body screaming at him to sleep, Craig finds himself uttering a small  _yeah_ , and Tweek responds by immediately ducking his head downward, and then Craig is out of his pants, and underwear, Tweek's tongue swirling around the head of his dick. He closes his eyes as Tweek goes deeper, holding him by the hair. And then he can hear Tweek removing his own pants, tossing them across the room, and he looks through half-open eyes as the warm wetness of Tweek's mouth breaks away, and he is across the room, and back again - and, he doesn't want to shut his eyes again  _now,_ because Tweek is readying himself, and it's the sexiest fucking thing he's ever seen. His boyfriend, lubed up and knuckle-deep inside his own ass, staring at him with a saliva-slick, open mouth, his shirt still on him, unbuttoned and dissheveled. "Still too tired?" Tweek gasps, not breaking eye contact with Craig as he adds another finger.

"Mmph," is Craig's non-answer, because he is. He is so, so tired, but he needs to resist. He needs _Tweek,_  needs, more than anything, to replace those fingers with his cock."Ride me, babe," he slurs. And Tweek does, slowly impaling himself, hissing through gritted teeth as Craig fills him up. Then Tweek begins to movie, rocking slowly at first, then harder, and quicker, and deeper. And to Craig, it is so  _tight,_ so warm, so relaxing, so amazing and hot that he shuts his eyes, and he - 

 

 

"Craig?  _Earth to Craig."_ Next thing Craig knows, Tweek, still rolling his hips on Craig's cock, is tapping him on the side of the face. "Wake up, asshole," Tweek says impatiently. "Don't pass out on me. It was getting so good. Stupid _Craig._ " He sounds frustrated, and whiny, and incredibly, incredibly turned on. 

_"Tweek,_ " Craig groans, fluttering his eyes open, and then shut again. "Oh, shit. I'm so sorry, honey. Tired."

Tweek leans down, claiming Craig's mouth in a searing, deep kiss, jolting Craig back to him, at least for a moment. "We can stop, I guess," he says rather reluctantly, after pulling away.

"Nah," replies Craig, "M'still hard... fuck yourself on it. Make yourself cum. Don't worry about me." He places a lazy, wet kiss somewhere near Tweek's jaw, feeling barely-there stubble underneath his swirling tongue. "Feels good anyway," he mumbles, hands half-cupping the cheeks of Tweek's ass.

There is something utterly amazing, even magical, Craig realizes, about drifting in and out of consciousness while fucking somebody. For his whole life, Craig has been quick and easy to fall asleep, and to dream. Those half-formed almost-dreams that occur as one begins to drift off have always been Craig's favorite. Sometimes, he purposely postpones sleep to revel in them, wishing he had a way to imprint them permanently upon his brain. Right now, inside of Tweek, it is no exception. They are in the backseat of Craig's car, and then they are floating in the atmosphere of Jupiter, and then Craig is back, feeling himself inside of Tweek, touching his perfect ass and listening to his needy panting, and then there are memories of Craig's roof, resting his head on Tweek's shoulder and showing him the big dipper for the first time, and  _god_ there's his ass again, and Craig hears himself say something, he doesn't know what, but Tweek emits a frantic  _fuck, yes_ so it must have been good, and it is everything. They are everything. It is years of love, and it is magic, and it is space and reality and it is dreams and it is  _them,_ it is  _right_.

Seemingly of their own accord, his hips continue to move in short, shallow thrusts as Tweek rides him, countering Craig's slight movements with squeezes and grinds. Tweek's high-pitched, greedy moans are a lullaby.

And, as his consciousness finally leaves him, the last thing he hears before falling asleep is the hoarse keen of Tweek's orgasm - _fuck, I love you, Craig_. The last thing he feels is Tweek's ass rocking against him, and his come spilling half onto the exposed part of his stomach, and half onto his dress shirt. The last thing he touches is Tweek's lips, with his own, as his boyfriend leans down to kiss him, riding out his last wave of pleasure. Craig doesn't come, but he is glad Tweek did, feeling content that he can finally pass out knowing that he gave the man he loved exactly what he needed.

_There's no way we can return these suits,_ is the last thing he thinks, as the comforting curtain of sleep descends over his body and mind for the final time that morning.


	2. day two - dirty talk (creek)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is filthy, filthy Creek. Dirty talk, name-calling, top!Tweek and bottom!Craig because that is my JAM. Very dialog heavy, for obvious reasons. 
> 
> Tweek is an acting teacher, there's uhhhh lowkey teacher/student stuff here too (and Craig? He's awful, awful actor. The absolute worst), they're in an established, long-term relationship, and in their late twenties. Aaaaaaand... go!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am physically incapable of writing about Craig and Tweek fucking, no matter how kinky those bastards get, without at least one "I love you" exchanged between the two of them. I see no problem with that.

“Dude, I feel really stupid.”

“Don't feel stupid. Tell me what you are.”

Craig’s mouth opened and closed several times, a stammer of something starting to form on his lips, but failing to become fully articulated. Being stared down by Tweek, whose pupils were wide with lust and anticipation, wasn't doing anything other than making him feel a confusing mixture of pressured, humiliated, and very turned on.

“Tell me what you are, and tell me what you want,” Tweek gently demanded.

“Alright, uh. I’m a...” Craig sighed. “Shit, babe, I'm no good at this. This is _your_ thing. I love when you do it, but you know I suck.”

It was extremely true. Despite the town’s predilection for drawing Craig on top in the yaoi artwork of their childhood that neither would live down, they had discovered sometime in high school that Tweek, to their mutual surprise and enjoyment, liked being in charge in the bedroom. Over their years together, it had only developed, both men embracing what they liked, and switching things up on occasion; still, no matter who was on top, when they were in bed together, Tweek did all the talking, and it drove Craig insane with desire. He'd ask questions - _you like that? You want this dick? You gonna scream for me, slut? -_ and Craig would always answer, but never initiated, and barely responded in anything but moans and gasps, save for a _yes_ , or a _fuck me,_ or a _please, babe._ “Aw, c’mon. Just try. For me?”

“Whatever.” Craig rolled his eyes, and droned, in a sarcastic monotone, “Oh Tweek. I am such a dirty, dirty whore, fuck me please.” The moment the words left his mouth, despite his obvious joking, he felt a pang of arousal shoot downward. Involuntarily, his cock twitched in his underwear, which, judging by the press of Tweek’s thigh against him, did not go unnoticed.

Maybe he _could_ do this.

Tweek chuckled, and leaned down to lick Craig’s ear. “You have your lines down, but your delivery needs work,” he murmured, breath hot against Craig’s skin. He knew all of Craig's spots, where he could kiss, or lick, or bite to really get him going, and, sure enough, Craig exhaled with a telltale shudder.  

“Is this what your acting classes are like?” Craig asked in a breathy gasp as Tweek nibbled at his neck. “If they are, I'm totally enrolling.”

“Gross, man! _Jesus_ , the last thing I wanna think about right now is my students _._ ” Between mutual laughter, Tweek planted quick kisses on the corner of Craig's mouth, his forehead, his jaw, until their lips locked in earnest. Tweek, as usual, tasted like coffee and chapstick; Craig still tasted vaguely of pizza and beer underneath the mint gum he'd chewed earlier, but Tweek wasn't going to complain - he loved to be kissed slow and deep, with lots of tongue, and Tweek wouldn't deprive him of that. “Although..." he broke away, hands on either side of Craig’s head, to gaze down at him, arching a barely-visible, blonde eyebrow.

“Although what.”

Tweek bit his lip, knowing full well Craig found it, in his own words, _sexy._ He would sometimes say such things - _that's sexy,_ or _you're hot_ or _yeah, that, right there_. “Maybe I could teach you,” he said. Craig responded by unbuttoning Tweek’s shirt, running his fingers along his stomach and chest before shucking it off of him.

“Maybe you _should_ ,” he replied while undoing Tweek’s jeans, palm pressed against his erection as his fingers worked the buttons of his fly. Craig was already undressed, stripped down to his boxer briefs, flushed and thoroughly ravished before Tweek even thought about removing his own clothing.

“Maybe I will.” He rose off the bed to quickly toss his jeans aside, laying back down on top of Craig. “But, man, I dunno, I really don’t want to bring work into this.”

“ _Psh_. It's totally different. Teach me, oh wise one.” Craig grinned. “Mold my pliable young mind with your instructional skills.”

“You're such a fucking dork,” Tweek replied affectionately, lacing his fingers through Craig's and kissing his forehead.

“Oh _yes,”_ said Craig, voice still rich with sarcasm, “I am a _dork._ Call me _names_. Baby, oh baby.” He punctuated his words with exaggerated thrusts, and even though he was just kidding around, both were still hard. As they laughed, Craig let out an exaggerated, fake moan that drifted off into a real, shuddering gasp, catching in his throat as their lengths aligned through the thin fabric of Craig’s underwear - Tweek being, as was often the case, naked under his jeans.

“You'd like that way too much,” Tweek said. “You...dorky…. _dork_ . Nerd. Geek. Science… person. _Mathlete_.” With each giggled non-insult, he pecked a kiss on a different part of Craig's face.

“ _Mathlete?_ How _dare_ you!" Craig gasped, feigning shock. “When are you gonna stop making fun of me for that? It was like ten years ago.”

“Oh, probably never.”

“Bringing up my involvement with mathletes is a hard limit,” Craig joked, and then went quiet. He tightened his hands around Tweek’s, looking into his still-lustful eyes. “But, hey, um... You know I do like it, a lot, when you _really_ call me stuff like… y’know, when you do the names thing. Right?”

“I _know_ .” Tweek’s voice cracked as a shiver spasmed up his spine; he bore his hips down once more upon Craig's, kissing him on the mouth, faster and more aggressive than before. “If you're trying to get me to let you off the hook from this, it’s not going to work,” he hissed against Craig’s lips. Releasing his hands, he trailed his fingers down Craig’s arms, grazing bitten nails lightly across his neck and collarbone; when he reached his nipples, he flicked, and pinched, and pulled, sending Craig into an instant frenzy, hips bucking sharply, back arching off the bed, with a clear and fervid moan. " _Gah-_ god, but you really are such a slut for me, aren’t you?”

Without fail, those words made Craig swear and groan, rubbing his cock against Tweek's with renewed rapture. It got him every time, hearing words like that come from his boyfriend, words one would never expect from someone like Tweek. “ _Yeah,_ ” Craig rasped. “So, how about you teach me. How to...um.” He swallowed, his face flushed with turned-on embarrassment. Seeing him like that invariably sent a thrum of arousal through Tweek’s body. “How to tell you that, I guess? What's my… what do you call it, motivation?”

“Oh my god.” Tweek laughed somewhat nervously, ready for Craig to make another joke, but when it didn't come and Craig instead gazed up at him, eager and expectant, he dropped his voice, and stared right back. “Yeah. That's right. Your motivation."

“Right, what’s my motivation in this scene, _sir?”_ A rakish grin spreading across his face, he very lightly slapped Tweek’s ass, knowing that Tweek would do exactly as he wanted, and he did - he grabbed Craig’s wrists, swiftly and with force, pinning him down to the bed once more.

_“Hey._  Watch it. Normally you figure it out yourself, _Craig,_ but since you didn't bother to study your _character_ -“he stroked an open-palmed hand down the front of Craig’s torso, hovering over his cock but not touching. The heat from his palm, and from Craig’s dick, was a magnetic force field of tension between them; all it would take was one simple motion from either of them to close the gap, but neither moved, both enjoying the anticipation, the _teasing,_ far too much. “-and you just fucking... suck at acting, and learning you lines..." he hooked his fingers into the waistband of Craig's underpants, guiding his hips upward with a pull before removing them and tossing them across the room. "...I  _guess_ I will be so  _kind_ as to give it to you myself. You are, by far, the _worst_ student I have  _ever_ had,"he hissed. While he sounded angry, the grin stretching across his face betrayed him.

Craig smiled right back at him. "Whatever you say,  _teach,"_ he uttered sarcastically. " _Ugh,_ I hate acting. I never _wanted_ to take this class, my mom  _made_ me." His whining was exaggerated, and, although his dick was hard, precome already dripping from the tip, and his chest was flushed, and his lips wet, full and parted, he was clearly not taking anything about this seriously. But, that was okay. Tweek could work with it."So what the fuck is my motivation?" he repeated. "Since I don't  _care_ , and everything."

"Your motivation," Tweek said thoughtfully. "Your motivation is to make  _me_ feel good. It is to show me you would do anything, anything at  _all_ ," he lapped at Craig's earlobe, catching it between his teeth and pulling it at the same time as he worried one of Craig's nipples between his fingers once more, "to please me."

Craig gasped. " _Oh,_ what the fuck, Tweek," he said softly, drawing his lower lip into his mouth. "Okay... uh, sir," he added, louder, the flush across his face and chest deepening. "How do I.... do that. What do I say. What do I.... what do you want me to do? Oh  _fuck,"_ Craig whimpered, as Tweek finally made contact with his dick. His hand was stroking slowly, firmly, up and down the length, thumb pausing to around the head, and Tweek made sure to look Craig right in the eyes as he brought his fingers, covered in precome, to Craig's mouth.

"Suck," he demanded, and Craig did, closing his lips around Tweek's pointer and middle fingers, never breaking eye contact. "I'm gonna push you," said Tweek, his breath catching as Craig dipped his head back, sucking on his fingers just like they were his cock, deep and slow. "I'm not gonna spoon-feed you lines, Craig. It's not  _my_ fault you aren't off-book. So, you're gonna improvise. You're the absolute worst, and I am fucking  _determined_ ," he pulled his fingers out of Craig's mouth with a slight  _pop_ , raking his short nails down Craig's chest again, all but ignoring his straining cock. He paused to cup Craig's balls, just for a second, relishing in the way Craig's eyes crinkled at the corners when he touched the velvety soft skin there, and made his way to Craig's waiting ass. "Fucking determined to make you better," he said, spitting on his hand before pressing a finger against Craig's entrance.

"Please," Craig whined, rocking his hips so that his ass brushed against Tweek's hand. " _Please."_

"Please what." 

"Uh, fuck me?" Craig replied, flippantly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Tweek scoffed, reaching for the bottle of lube that was already sitting on their bed and pouring a generous amount on his hand. "Really?  _Talk_ , Craig. Talk, and I'll fuck you."

"Um."

"Motivation, Craig," Tweek said, sounding unimpressed as he inserted his middle finger, knowing exactly where to hit to cause Craig to squirm.

" _Ah_ , I... okay, I want you inside me. I want your  _cock_ inside me," he clarified, "I want you to fuck me. Uh. Fuck me so hard I can feel it into... um, into next week? I guess?"

"Good start," Tweek replied, adding another finger. "More."

Beneath him, Craig was twisting the sheets into his hands, eyes rolling back as Tweek fingered him. "Oh god, uh, I... I  _need it?"_ Craig screwed up his eyes, mouth falling open. "I need to feel you. I need you... in me. I...  _please_ just do it. Please."

Tweek, with a final spread of his fingers, opening his lover's entrance, chuckled softly. “Alright. I give in. I’m gonna fuck you now. And you are going to keep talking. If you stop, I stop. And if you’re good enough at it, I’ll let you…” He paused with a mischievous grin on his face, and lowered his voice into a growling murmur. “I’ll get right down there and suck you off when you wanna come and I’ll swallow all of it. If you're _not,_ then you don’t get to come at all.”

“Jesus H. Christ,” Craig muttered under his breath. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Do it, babe." When he entered him, finally, sunk his cock slowly inside, Craig swore, biting down on his shoulder.

"No  _biting,"_ Tweek hissed, hand twisting hard in the back of Craig's hair. "Jerk."

"Sorry," Craig said, not sounding apologetic in the least. " _Move_ , Tweek, Christ."

"Being demanding isn't going to get you anywhere," Tweek lied, as began to move his hips. For a moment, they forgot about the talking. It was simply them, together, as it always had been, and always should be - that is, until Craig whisper-moaned into Tweek’s ear.

“Am I doing okay? Do I feel good, because you feel _so_ fucking good.”

“You feel _amazing_ ,” Tweek choked out, his thrusts hard and deep. “You look so beautiful like this, taking-” he bit Craig’s neck and yanked on his hair, for emphasis “-taking my dick.”

Craig’s eyes were shut tight, as to block out everything but the feeling and their words, and his brow was furrowed in concentration. “Taking it like the bitch I am.” His voice was a barely audible gasp.

Tweek could barely hold back the spasm that wracked through his body. “What the _fuck_ , I… ah! Say it again.” Tweek’s words wavered as he paused his thrusting, and forced himself to hold on a little longer. He was going to get as much out of Craig as he could before he even thought of giving in to his own orgasm. “Louder.”

“You're fucking me like a bitch?” Craig repeated, louder but rather stupidly, like it was a question. His eyes snapped open, and despite his chest heaving with shaking breaths, and his eyes blackening out with arousal, an apprehensive smirk danced across his lips. “I mean, uh.” Feeling like his face was on fire, he flitted his eyes closed again. “Fuck me. Use me. I’m a... I'm your...” he let out a ragged groan.  _"Tweek,_  honey, please," he whined, following it with nothing in particular.

“Fuck, yeah, you - Wait, Craig? Why do you keep closing your eyes? Look at me.” Craig did. He was wide-eyed, clearly aroused and very, very obviously nervous. “Are you embarrassed?”

Craig nodded against Tweek’s palm in a way akin to a nuzzle. “Kinda,” he said, in a small voice. “I like it, just, I’m…” He shrugged, trying to convey the message - _I’m feeling a little vulnerable right now._

“Do you want to stop?” To that, he emphatically shook his head _no._ “You okay?”

He nodded again. “It’s a good embarrassed,” Craig clarified.

_"Nngh..._ Good embarrassed. That’s good, that’s… yeah. Would it help if I asked you stuff?” Another nod, certain and firm, and Tweek brought his mouth down against Craig’s own, met with zero resistance when he led with his tongue, using it to further separate Craig’s already half-parted lips. This was how Craig communicated when they fucked, he thought. Not through detailed descriptions or dirty phrases, but through searing kisses, wanton thrusts, and soft whines; and, Tweek decided, as he lost himself in Craig’s soft lips and hot mouth, and thumbed the head of his slick cock, that he wouldn’t have it any other way - that was Craig, _his_ Craig. Today was just something different. It was an experiment; it was just another one of their games, and, this time, they'd see it through til the end. “Love you, Craig,” he murmured between kisses.

"I love _you,_ ” Craig said back. He’d wrapped his arms around Tweek, clutching desperately onto his shoulders as he rocked into the blond man, meeting Tweek’s thrusts with upward ones of his own. “Fuck me,” he begged.

“You like when I fuck you?” Tweek felt a little silly because obviously Craig did, but he was determined to help out, and keep him talking.

That simple question drove Craig wild, causing him to unleash a wanton, loud cry. “Yes. God yes, Tweek, baby,  _god_ I love when you fuck me. Never want you to stop fucking me.” He gripped harder, digging his nails into Tweek's back, kissing him on the neck, with his tongue, his teeth, recklessly.

“ _Never_. Never going to stop. You mine?”

“I’m _yours_ ,” he cried.

“My what?”

“Oh jesus _fuck,_ Tweek, please don't make me say-”

“Say it.”

_"God,"_ Craig rocked against him, shaking his head against Tweek's shoulder. 

“Say it or I’ll stop, _Craig_. Are you a slut?”

"I... yes.  _Yes, okay?_  Yes.I’m a slut." That did it, and Craig broke. It was as if something in his chest loosened, and burst, like a beam of light, and he ground upwards as his body was wracked with sobbing moans, he and Tweek talking back and forth between licks and kisses in a volley of  _Yours,_  and  _Mine,_ and  _Fucking slut,_ and _I am,_ and  _I love you,_ and  _Fuck me._

"Tell me what you need." Their sweat-slicked foreheads were touching, eyes saying everything their words did, and more.

“Bend me over? Make me take it." Tweek made an affirmative noise, and it was a quick shift in positions, so quick; next thing they knew, Craig was gripping the headboard with one hand and pumping his cock with the other, ass in the air as he was saying anything, and everything, unable to stop.

"Just... the worst actor ever," Tweek managed to squeak out, before he slammed his cock back into Craig in one quick motion. They moved against each other, roughly, his hands in Craig's thick, black hair, and around his hips, guiding him, slapping, scratching, fucking him with reckless abandon, and bringing himself to the point of no return. "I'm gonna fucking... I can't last anymore, I'm gonna..."

“Fill me up, baby. Come inside of me, god _, fuck_ , Tweek, I love you, I'm _yours_ , I'll walk around all day with you dripping out of my ass and I'll-” and the thought of Craig doing that, and being proud of it, proud to be _his,_ finally pushed Tweek over the edge. Holding Craig by the hair, he cut him off with a sloppy press of his tongue against his lips, kissing him as best and as deep as the awkward angle allowed. His moans into Craig's mouth, as he shook and twitched and came harder than he could ever remember coming, were barely muffled, matched by Craig, unintelligibly speaking with his mouth full of tongue.

He twitched one final time, unloading the last of his orgasm. "I... uh. Heh." Tweek was surprised to find himself at a complete loss for words as he extracted himself from Craig, slowly, causing the taller man to whine again. "Craig, I,  _agh,_ I. Yeah, that... That."

Craig rolled over, and kissed him, eyes wild and nearly black. "Yeah! _Wow. Tweek._ God, that was so good. That was... hah. It was incredible. The way you just made me... and when you... oh man, Tweek, we have  _got_ to do that again sometime." Craig was rambling in his typical monotone, his mouth stretched across his face in a manic smile. "I never thought I'd even be  _able_ to, but fuck you're a good teacher and  _dude,_ I just love you, a lot, and that was  _so fun._ Like, I don't even need to come, I just... I feel  _sooo happy,_ I love making  _you_  feel-"

“Hey, Craig?” Tweek asked, faintly, rubbing the back of Craig's neck.

“Yeah, babe?”

“Can you just... shut the hell up, for a second, while I get you off?”

“Oh. Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and, y'know, I think it's a wonderful thing that I finally chose to do something with my bachelor's degree in theatre. super. so what if the thing i've done is (terribly) use what limited knowledge I retained from five years of intense study to write about cartoon characters having kinky sex. just... real great. such an accomplishment.


	3. day three - public (style)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan and Kyle, suckin' dick under the bleachers... and getting cockblocked.
> 
> Warning: This is questionably underage? like they're in high school and i didn't even really think about how old they might be? this is also full of all your favorite south park Style fic tropes like secret relationships, Quarterback Stan The Man, and Nerdy Bitchy Queen Kyle. *cries in cliche*

"Shut  _up_ , Kyle," Stan hisses, staring up at his best friend. "Do you wanna get caught?"

"That's... _dude_." Kyle laces his hands into Stan's hair, which is as soft as it looks, but kind of greasy. Stan didn't shower after the game, upon Kyle's secret, whispered request between lunch and geography class. "That's the - _ah, fuck -_ that's kind of the point, yeah?"

Stan can't exactly talk right now, given his mouth is full, but the noise he makes around Kyle's dick is unmistakably a trepidatious affirmation. 

"I - shit,  _deeper_ _-_ I think you like it," Kyle groans, guiding Stan's mouth further along his length. "I think you want people to see." His voice is lower now; he is ensuring that no stragglers near the field, and no possible marching band kids still lurking around the bleachers, will hear them. "I think you want people to  _know_." And he knows, every time, that this drives Stan crazy, when he says filthy things in a matter-of-fact, rumbling murmur - bonus if there's danger of being discovered - it's obvious. With each word, Stan relaxes his jaw a little more, allowing Kyle to go deeper, harder, even if Stan's eyes begin to water, and his throat contracts in a gag around the head of his friend's cock. "I think you want  _everyone_ to know that, after the game, Stan Marsh gets his football-star  _mouth_ fucked by his best friend." Kyle grips Stan's head with both hands, now, ramming himself down Stan's throat, his head thrown back in unbridled joy. "And you like it," Kyle chokes out.

"Mfgh," Stan tries to say something.

Kyle emits something between a laugh and a moan. "What was that?" He pulls Stan's head back, by the hair, gently, sighing as his dick is exposed to the chill of the evening air, a string of drool trailing between it and Stan's open, panting mouth.

"I do," he says. Stan's hands caress the dip between Kyle's ass and thighs, through his jeans; his blue eyes are staring, making him feel the way only Stan can - exposed, vulnerable, and utterly, irrevocably in love. "I love getting my mouth fucked by you." He gently, almost chastely, presses his lips to Kyle's cockhead. "Kyle," he whispers, "Come down here. Kiss me."

He does. The concrete is cold, but Stan, oh, he is warm, and inviting, and his mouth is hot as  _fuck_ , tasting like sex and the beautiful, intoxicating flavor he can only describe as  _Stan._

"You smell good," Kyle murmurs, pulling Stan into a straddle on top of him.

Stan presses up against him, moving slowly, his face in his hair. Kyle  _hates_ his hair, and the first time Stan did this, he about walked away with a bloody nose; but, over the previous few months, as their friendship evolved into this, whatever this perfect, beautiful thing between them was, Kyle has learned to love it. " _You do,"_ Stan breathes, "You always smell good." His cock is rock hard in his Park County High sweatpants as he rides Kyle's thigh, gripping and stroking the redhead's still-unclothed length. Kyle keeps himself together surprisingly well, breathing through his nose in sharp bursts, but Stan, well, he is losing it, unable to keep his moans under control as he increases his pace, body impossibly close to that of his best friend.

"Someone's gonna hear us if you keep moaning like that," Kyle says.

"I don't care," Stan cries against his lips, silencing himself with his tongue dipping into Kyle's mouth, exploring every inch of Kyle's tongue, lips, teeth, _everything_. "Wanna, god, Kyle, I wanna -"

"Fuck me?"

Stan's eyes light up. "Yeah.  _Yeah,_ Kyle, I think it's time."

"Right here?"

"Right here." Their lips crash together again... And, that's when they hear it. A rustling, like someone was nearby. Like somebody was watching, and listening, and oh,  _shit._

There is a scramble as both boys, rather ungracefully, detangle their limbs from each other. Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck fuck, somebody _is._

"Ahem." From the corner, they hear a flick of a lighter, the owner's face illuminated by the flame as she lights her clove. "Don't stop on my account, fucksticks." Henrietta, unsmiling as usual, takes a deep drag on her cigarette, rolling her black-lined eyes. "That was pretty hot, _Raven._ "

Stan is frozen, eyes and mouth both open as far as they will go, like a caricature of surprise. "Shit."

She takes another puff. "Shit, indeed. Just... come on, you two. Fucking gross. I'm trying to smoke down here, where it's nice and  _quiet,_ and you show up and go all... faggy on each other."

Kyle's face contorts into a hateful grimace. "Hey, fuck you! Just because we're two-"

" _Ugh_ ," Henrietta scoffs. "Not even because you're gay, moron. It was just so... sweet. I think I got diabetes from being exposed to that display."

"How... uh, how much did you see?" Stan stammers.

She makes an exaggerated, rude gesture mnemonic to somebody giving a blowjob. "Pretty much everything, given you're in fucking _public._ Idiots. And you know something? I literally do not give a flying shit. You do you, and be happy little best friend butt buddies. _But."_ Her eyes harden, and Stan swears that look could turn him and Kyle to stone if they looked at her directly. "I swear, on dark lord Cthulhu, if I ever, fucking _ever,_ hear either  _one_ of you conformist jock retards say 'no homo' _ever_ again, I'm telling the entire school what you just did." She snaps her cigarette case closed and shoves it into her coffin-shaped purse, the corner of her mouth twitching into a smirk. "'I think you want everyone to know the star quarterback likes to take dick,'" she says in a mocking paraphrase of Kyle's earlier speech.

"Goth _asshole."_ Green eyes blazing with anger, Kyle begins to rise from their place on the concrete, Stan having to hold him back from hitting a girl. "Are you kidding me?"

"Kyle, just let it go, she said she doesn't-"

"I'm not even a  _jock_ ," he yells at Henrietta as she laughs, turns her back, and walks away from them in a cloud of clove-scented smoke.

Stan has to bite the side of his cheek to keep from laughing. Of all possible comebacks, Kyle says  _that?_

"What are you even _doing_ at a football game, Henrietta?" He calls after her, forever needing to have the last word. Thanks to that spectacle, if nobody knew that something was happening under the bleachers before, it was likely that they sure as hell did now. Kyle sinks to the ground again, face burning, wishing the hard concrete would open up and pull him into a void. "I'm not a jock," he repeats, pitifully, resting his head on Stan's shoulder. "Oh,  _shit,"_ he wails, the reality of the situation - of being in love with his best friend, of _fucking_ his best friend, of the possibility of people  _knowing_ he was in love with, and fucking, his best friend - just now hitting him.

"I know, dude," Stan replies, kissing Kyle on the top of his head, burying his face in his mess of ginger curls. "I know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what even is proofreading. i love henrietta so much.


	4. day four - begging (creek)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and now for something completely different!
> 
> just kidding its more creek porn. AU in which they never dated (bless you, Matt and Trey, that I can actually say that. we are SO BLESSED). see notes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember my depressing-ass fic, degausser? with mentally ill, sad adult tweek? when he ties craig to the bedposts, and makes him beg? yeah, consider this the missing scene that nobody asked for, from a fic that never should have been.
> 
> warning, as with its predecessor: bleak as fuck, and written in an odd style.

Craig’s hands are tied to the bedposts -  _I can’t believe you're using me like this_ \- Craig’s nasal monotone but a whisper infused with sheer wonder and absolute want.

_About time it’s my turn. You know you’re mine, right?_ There is no hesitation, his voice does not catch; it is even, smooth, and sure. He nips Craig’s neck, right behind the ear, right  _there_ , where it makes him go absolutely crazy.

_Ohh god. Yes. I am._

_Say it._  

_Yours. Always yours. I’ve always been yours._ And oh my god he wants to untie Craig and hold him and say love you love you loveyouloveyouLOVEYOUSOMUCH but, right now, he wants  _this_ more.

_Oh yeah? I don’t believe you. If you want it, you’ll have to beg for it. You heard me. Beg._

\------

_I don't know what you want me to say_.  _I don't know what you... This is new._ Good- _new._

_I - agh - I want you to -_ a stammer, a twitch ( _n_ _ot NOW, are you kidding me, I can't even keep it together during sex? )_ that he is only just able to suppress and he knows what he wants to say

 

_(be my boyfriend. be mine. be with me, and stay with me, and never, ever, fucking_ leave,  _Craig. everybody, they always leave, they always fuck me up, and I-)_

 

What comes out of his mouth is, authoritative and firm, _tell me, how_ _bad do you want to fuck me?_

Craig's breath catches - _so bad, more than anything, let me -_  and he strains against the restraints, eyes clouding over, his cock, large and erect and beautiful and perfect and oh  _god_ ,  _perfect, you are perfect_ , twitches against the gorgeous V of his lower abdomen; Tweek knows that if he places eager, toothy kisses on the place where hip meets pelvis that Craig will spasm and curse and struggle and mewl, therefore of course Tweek does exactly that, and  _fuck_ so does Craig.

_Swear to fucking god if you untie me, you won't be able to sit right for days_ and while the offer is tantalizing he's not going to give in  _now._ Still, when he thinks of Craig's hands slapping his ass hard enough to leave marks, he can't keep his own hand off his dick as he looks Craig straight in the eyes

_that wasn't begging_

and Craig's eyes dart downward and he  _watches_ and lets out a ragged  _fuck, please_ , and he watches as Tweek brings himself to the edge, and back again, and he watches as Tweek fucks himself, purposefully slow.

All the while, his  _please_ and  _fuck_ and  _let me do that to you_ increase in urgency.

\-----

_Jesus fucking_ Christ _I can't take it anymore watching you like that. I want to fuck you, I_ need _to fuck you, I need to be inside you. god just TOUCH ME at least, FUCK, please_

Their eyes are locked and they are shaking and Craig is biting his lip, and his hips are twitching of their own accord in minute thrusts, his cock leaking - and Tweek can't help it, he leans down, for but a moment, to lick his pre-come from the slit and knows that, were Craig able, his hands would be in his hair, and he would be fucking his mouth and growling and swearing and they'd both  _love_ it so he pulls away 

_You don't deserve it_

and Craig's face screws up in agonized longing

_Tweek. I need you. Please?_

and he sounds so small and desperate and  _beautiful_ that Tweek finally gives in.

\-----

In the heat of the moment, it is easy, very easy, to substitute  _(to mistake)_ "faster" for "I feel the same," or " _please_ don't stop don't ever stop" for "I'll never leave you," or " _ride me_ oh god" for "you are my only."

When Craig comes inside of him he wonders if his orgasms are also flashbacks to what once was and visions of what could be and denial of what  _is_ or is that just him, is that just Tweek, and for Craig is it just a feeling?

It is too easy to substitute enraptured moans with declarations of love.

\----- 

_Dude, can you let me out of these things? Wanna make you come too._

He is so thankful that this time, with Craig's mouth on him, everything is a white-lightning-flash and, for just one moment, what they have together is perfect.

The afterglow is an uncertain ache and Tweek needs a smoke, he needs to  _leave_ , he needs to tell Craig everything but of course he cannot, because Craig is smiling and pulling him close and with his head on his shoulder he can still substitute and he can still pretend and its  _fine._ Everything is fine.

_\-----_

_Is this just a sex thing?_

_Of course not. We're friends, too, aren't we? It's pretty dumb, y'know_. Craig doesn't smoke, but he lights Tweek's cigarette anyway, brushing his hair out of his face and it is fire and aching and hurt.  _It's dumb that people think friends can't have a sexual relationship too. It shouldn't be this high and mighty, sacred thing that only goddamn married people or whatever are allowed to have._

_Y-yeah. I know, right?_ He wants to scream, to bash his own forehead against the headboard and say FUCK YOU and THAT'S IT, THIS IS IT, we are through, we are done, we are not  _friends,_ this is not what  _friends_ do, Craig, you manipulative  _fuck_ , I am done.

Instead, he exhales a drag. _We're f_ _riends. Friends who._ He forces a laugh.  _Friends who fuck each other_ good.

Craig laughs. _So good. Really, really fucking good..._ Best _friends, yeah?_

_Best-ah,-_

(do best friends do  _this_ _?_ are there proclamations of want and ownership? does the phrase  _i love you_ hang on the lips of somebody who is your  _best friend_ , threatening to break free at any given second, at the stupidest fucking moments, not just when your tongue is between my legs or your cock inside of me or you are screaming my name, but when we are doing nothing, when we are sitting in silence or watching television or walking down some cold mountain trail or....)

_Yeah_. _Totally best friends_.  _I like what we have too, man._

\-----

He wakes up in the middle of the night, wondering if he even slept at all, and if he did, did he dream, or did he hallucinate?

Craig snores. He pretends he doesn't, but he does, open-mouthed and sounding like a chainsaw. Craig talks in his sleep, too, half-phrases and unintelligible queries and vulnerable, contented grunts

_(Sometimes when you sleep, you sound like your guinea pig used to, remember?)_

_(What are you even talking about, Tweek)_

and sometimes if you talk to him he will talk back and he'll never remember any of it and none of it makes any sense and Tweek always used to use it to fuck with him but now. Not anymore. Now it is the only time that he is able to say anything that he wants without fear of a conversational diversion or an eyeroll or, worst of all, a smile and a kiss and a promise to discuss it later.

_I think I love you,_ he confides to the chilly, still air of Craig's room.  _I am in love with you._ A whisper, a plea -  _Please -_ for what, he doesn't know (please, we need to end this; please, let's  _never stop doing this god please never_ , please leave me alone, please stay with me, please just say it  _back_ because I am so goddamn in love with you that I can barely stand it anymore).  _Craig, you make me..._

(feel like my mouth does when I drink my morning coffee too quickly and it's too hot and it burns and I have to try and go about my day with that constant reminder of my first mistake dulling everything else that I taste)

_Craig, you make me happy. Please._

No stirring, and no reply. Craig snores.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> w e l p,,,, bear with me as i continue to work through my own personal demons via my otp.


	5. day five - humiliation (creek)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sexting and covert bondage and public humiliation and work and embarrassing situations, oh my.
> 
> Creek, college-aged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer that I don't really think it's okay for people to expose others to their weird kinky sex life without first obtaining permission, but these two idiots are still learning.
> 
> warnings, uh, told in the form of sexy text messages. you have no idea how long it took me to format this bullshit. and there's BDSM and name-calling and Harbucks and public masturbation. amanda is a random OC that tweek works with.

**(CT)  
Craig**

**iMessage**

Hey babe, how’s work?

<3 <3 <3  
Good I guess  
Kinda slow day probably bc of the snow  
Amanda spilled a peppermint mocha on a customer  
She’s reallyy upset 

Lol that sucks

Yeah  
Told her i do it alll the time but it didn’t make her feel any better 

Haha well  
Wouldn’t she expect you to do that  
You’re clumsy as fuck  
Twitchy mf’er 

Hey fuck you man

Watch your mouth

No fuck you  
Fucking duck  
Duck  
God damn it, F U C K 

Haha  
I should slap that smart mouth right off of you 

Could later  
Fucking motherfcuker stupid asshole fuck you ;)  
Shithead cocksucker :D 

Yeah you’re in for it.  
You are such a brat 

Good hahahaha  
You in class? 

Yeah  
Methods of mathematical physics  
Ugh 

Not gonna get in trouble for texting right??

Nah  
Big lecture  
Nobody pays attention if we text or whatever  
I'm messaging you from my laptop anyway 

Right on  
Sooooooo it’s holding up pretty well  
The harness  
You did a good job 

Oh yeah?  
Of course I did lol  
You comfortable? 

Yeah. Almost forgot it was even there  
But it reminds me of you  
ily

<3  
I bet everyone at work knows what you’re wearing under your clothes 

:/ stopppppp  
I hope not

Lies  
You want everyone to know you’re a kinky bitch who gets tied up by his boyfriend  
Unbutton all the buttons on your polo for the rest of the day. 

People are gonna see if I lean over  
And they’re gonna see the bite marks  
btw can’t stop thinking about them and your mouth on me  
Felt so good 

Me either.  
Can’t stop thinking about how you must be feeling today  
Tied up under your uniform and covered in bruises. It’s hot af and I’ve been wanting you so bad  
Do what I say you fucking whore <3 

Ohhhh god  
Yes sir 

You get off on it anyway don’t you?  
That people might see? And know?  
I know you do. Any time I make you do something humiliating, you can’t stay off my dick for the rest of the day 

Maybe….,,,.

Just maybe? 

Ok yeah lol I love this shit  
If I didn’t I would tell you/safeword you know that right? 

I know  
There’s something I want you to do for me right now. 

Oh yeah?  
Hey gimme a sec a huge group just walked in  
Fuck it’s high school girls  
Shouldn’t they be in school uuuuughhhhhhh  
gonna be awhile I gotta make like eight thousand frapps gdi  
K back 

Okay.  
Go to the bathroom  
Leave the door unlocked  
Take off your clothes.  
And show me.

…….  
Seriously Craig 

Did I stutter  
Go to the bathroom, leave the door unlocked, and strip. Take a picture.  
That’s an order 

Ohh fuck okay yes sir  
Can I use snapchat I don’t want these on my phone 

Of course you can  
Don't think everyone in class should see your dick on my computer screen anyway lol  
That's for my eyes :P

Ok here you go  
You like it?  
All yours 

So beautiful and all mine.  
Show me your ass 

Here  
Property of Craig T. Tucker haha 

Damn right. Fuck you’re perfect.  
How’s it feel having that rope against your ass all day 

Good. It isn’t uncomfortable like I thought it might be well not BAD uncomfortable. Makes me feel like you’re here with me all day  
And that makes me feel safe

Aw Tweek that’s really sweet. I love you so much.  
Touch yourself. 

Until I cum?

You wish.  
Until I say stop  
I wish I could right now too

ICANN hel u later  
Sry one handed lo l I’ll help you with that later  
Fuck me so hard I can’t see straight tonight please 

You have no idea what you’re in for  
I can't believe you....  
Wearing rope to work. Jacking off the the bathroom. Showing off your hickeys. You’re such a little fucking whore. Fucking slut. Showing off for everybody when you’re supposed to be mine <3 

Ohhhhh god omg I am  
please tell me more??? 

Show me again  
Whoa you’re blushing really hard. You sure you’re okay? 

Yea You have no idea how mjcbj love the  
How much I love this

Should make you walk around with a toy inside you all day next time 

Fuck yes please  
God please craig  
I’m SO close already 

I said no.

FINe okay  
asshole  
Fucking jerk 

At this point you're doing it on purpose aren't you?

MAYBE you fucking motherfuckerrrrrr :P

Christ lol.  
So here’s what’s gonna happen  
You’re going to leave that on all day  
And when you come home

Omfg  
Hammertime

You are going to take off you clothes and get on the bed  
Okay!  
What happened? You all right??? 

AMANDA JUST OPENED THE DOOR SHE DIDNT KNOW I WAS IN HERE  
she was like okay we’re never talking about this again and then she left omg I am freaking out man!!!!! 

Lololol okay okay scene over I’m sorry honey  
put your clothes back on and get back to work  
Next time...yeah, lock the door. That was dumb of me to have you do that. 

Yes sir  
Aaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh :(  
I totally want to die now HAHAHAH.

It’s gonna be okay  
Remember when we got drunk with her a couple weeks ago  
Amanda’s weird af, she’ll be cool about it  
She’ll make fun of you forever, though, be prepared 

Lol I GUESS BUT OMG she’s my coworker!!!!  
She saw my dick, man!!

I wouldn’t tell you it’ll be ok if i wasn’t sure about it.  
How you feeling 

EMBARRASSED AS HELL  
AND SO FUCKING HORNY  
But I can’t wait to see you later holy shit I’m so turned on omfg  
I’m gonna be hard all day  
Gonna be thinking about you all day  
They’re gonna fire me! :( 

No they won’t, you’re the manager.  
You spill hot coffee on people, dude.  
And you break things all the time  
But you’re an awesome manager baby!! you’re doing great and I’m proud of you  
You won’t get fired just for forgetting to lock the door ;)  
Gotta go for now I have lab, can’t really text  
Be naked on our bed when I get back.  
Love you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES THEIR SAFEWORD IS HAMMERTIME.
> 
> they're kinky but the love each other okay? okay. tbh i feel like tweek would be the one to initiate all of this in the first place and then craig kinda goes along with it and figures out he enjoys the hell out of it and becomes the domliest dom to ever dom because it makes his babe happy.


	6. day eleven - orgasm denial (creek)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When your anxious, paranoid, yet strangely dominant husband goes on his first national Broadway tour, what are you supposed to do with yourself?
> 
> Definitely not jack off.
> 
> Creek, again. Actor AU, again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I said I was writing out of order, I definitely wasn't lying.
> 
> No warnings, really. This is a lot longer than I initially planned, hence the delay. Thank god I'm not following the rules (and, I mean, we're over a week into November already, so fuck the rules).

It had been fourteen days, seven hours, forty-six minutes, and nine seconds since he’d last been allowed an orgasm. Craig was going crazy.

What began as another one of their ubiquitous “loser gets fucked” bets was quickly getting out of hand. It’d be one thing if Tweek was _there_ \- at least then, the teasing and the delay and the anticipation would have some kind of physical reward. He could touch him, and be touched. He could vicariously live through how amazing he could make Tweek feel, could hold him close as he shook with waves of pleasure that Craig could proudly say he caused.

Instead, he had his own hand, and text messages, and pictures, and sadly short Skype calls - but, still no hope of release, not yet.

Instead, he had to wait, and count down the days until the show hit Denver. His plane ticket was purchased, his room booked, and his plans with everyone still straggling in South Park finalized. Those remaining were beside themselves that their tiny town had, for once, a non-bizarre claim to fame, however small it may have been in the grand scheme of things, and that Tweek Tucker, that weird kid from school, was an actual Broadway actor.

Two weeks ago, national tour of _The Sound of Music_ left Chicago at 10 a.m. on a Wednesday, taking Tweek and the other cast members across the country in a caravan of busses, and Tweek, as usual, freaked out every step of the way. After the initial excitement of his casting in the ensemble died down, it seemed as if Tweek found a new show-related anxiety every hour, ranging from _fuck, I’m playing a Nazi! What if people back home think_ I’m _a Nazi?_ to _hotels are disgusting and filled with bedbugs and I’m going to get bedbugs and then they’ll get in the costumes, and the whole_ cast _will get bedbugs and they’ll trace it back to me and I’ll get fired_ to _we are going to die. The bus is going to crash, and we are all going to_ fucking _DIE._ And, Craig, as always, was there to listen, and support him through all his anxieties, however unfounded most of them were, being sure to tell him how talented he was, that he was a professional, he’d _made_ it, and reminding him of everything he’d overcome to get that far.

God, was Craig ever proud of him.

The morning of Tweek’s departure, they’d loaded up the car, fed the dog, and locked up the house, all with a bittersweet air of finality looming over them. As Craig drove Tweek and what was probably too much luggage from the suburbs to his pickup area, their car ride was unusually silent, save for the radio softly playing Fleetwood Mac, the voice of the GPS interrupting the music every few minutes. From the passenger seat, Tweek’s hand was lightly resting upon Craig’s thigh, his thumb drawing tiny circles on his jeans. His brow furrowed as he looked out the window, jiggling his leg and distractedly biting his lower lip. Craig could tell he was anxious, to the point of being nearly detached; he always hated seeing Tweek that way, but, considering the circumstances, it was understandable - Craig felt it, too.

Tweek was first to break the silence. “Craig, are you… I’m kinda worried about something.”

Craig took a hand off the wheel for a moment, to give Tweek’s a squeeze. “You got cast for a reason. You’ll be amazing.”

With a small twitch of his head, Tweek cleared his throat. “Uh, it actually isn’t _that._ It’s just, ah… when I’m gone? What if you… god, okay, what if you find… someone else?” His voice was soft and unsure.

The car veered as Craig abruptly turned his head to look at his husband, unable to help himself. “What,” he said, flatly, too surprised to even show it.

“Just… god I’m _stupid,_ why am I worried about that? But like. What if?”

“You’re seriously afraid I’m going to _cheat_ on you? Tweek. That’s ridiculous.” Craig gripped the steering wheel tightly. All he wanted to do was pull over, stop the car, and show Tweek just how ridiculous he was being. He wanted to pull him into the back seat, and kiss him everywhere, and make him feel amazing, and make him know just how much, how _goddamn much,_ he was loved. But, most of all, he wanted him to stay. “I _married_ you, you jackass. I married you knowing this touring thing was probably gonna happen, and I’m ready for it. And I’m so happy for you. I’d never even think about cheating on you, dude.”

Tweek remained quiet, staring out the window and watching the buildings buzz by, his hand still absently stroking Craig’s thigh. He shrugged.

Craig sighed, trying to keep his eyes on the road. “Honey… come on. Don’t think like that.”

“I know I’m being irrational, but, just… we’re really, I don’t know. Really physical.” As if to prove a point, he squeezed Craig’s leg, but continued to look away. “I’ve thought about it a lot. I know I won’t, ah, I w-won’t do anything with anyone else and I _do_ trust you but… I worry. You _know_ that.” While the words that were coming out of his mouth bore all trademarks of his usual anxiety, he sounded quite far away, like he was floating, or dreaming. Tweek very purposely rolled his shoulders back, trying to shake the tension from his body, as he continued looking at the scenery, rather than Craig.

“I’ll prove it,” Craig said.

Tweek let out an odd sound that could have been a _how_.

“Wanna make a bet?”

That, as Craig knew it would, jerked Tweek quickly out of his reverie. “A bet. What kinda bet?”

“You think I can’t go without sex? I’ll do you better than that. Bet you I can go without, I don’t know. Without jacking off even. For a _week.”_

_“_ A week? Whatever, Craig. That’s _nothing.”_

“Fine. Two weeks, then.”

“ _Pft._ Try til Denver.”

Craig narrowed his eyes. “Denver?”

“Did.” Tweek moved his hand higher yet. “I fucking.” And, higher. “Stutter.” Until his palm was flush against the crotch of Craig’s jeans, pressing against his bulge.

Craig inhaled sharply, immediately half-hard. “You horny bastard.” Through the corner of his eye, Craig saw Tweek’s face finally light up into a grin, and, at that moment, seeing him smile was a better feeling than any amount of touching could ever be.

He made no move to relocate his hand. “Y’know… let’s make it interesting. Say you _can_ jerk off, whenever I tell you to. But you’re not allowed to _get_ off.” While he spoke, he continued to grope Craig through his jeans, gripping around the outline of his cock once he’d become fully erect. “Sound like a bet?” Even through two layers of clothing, Craig gasped when Tweek firmly circled his thumb around the base of the head.

_“Shit,”_ Craig moaned under his breath, doing everything in his power to keep from rolling his hips upwards and grinding against Tweek’s hand. “It’s a bet. Official terms being what?”

Internally, Craig was cursing the existence of his center console, since Tweek was now practically draping himself across it, being very distracting, and extremely unsafe. Tweek’s teeth grazed against his neck, his lips and tongue pressing against him in sure, hard kisses. “I bet you _can’t_ make it, so if you cum at any time between right now and Denver, I get to do whatever I want to you.” His mouth closed around Craig’s earlobe, giving it a small nip. “You make it that long, you get to do _anything_ you want to me.”

“You’re gonna be on vocal rest again after your Denver show, babe. Because I’m gonna make you scream. Because I’m gonna win.”

Tweek’s laugh was devilish and low; he moved his hand up to toy with the waistband of Craig’s jeans, pausing to stroke his thumb against the trail of hair on his lower stomach.

_“In a quarter mile, turn left.”_

As if Siri’s voice brought him back to reality, Tweek sighed, and pulled away, slowly returning to his side of the car. “I’m going to miss you so much.”

“Me too.” _Safe driving be damned,_ thought Craig, as he reached over to take Tweek’s hand in his own for the remainder of their journey.

_“The destination is on your right.”_

After they’d loaded Tweek’s things into a cargo hold of a rockstar coach, all they could think to do was look at each other, hands clasped together.

“It’s not gonna be forever,” Tweek said, sounding more like he was trying to convince himself of that, rather than Craig. “Not, ah, I mean. Not just _this_ tour but generally, yeah? Something’s gonna happen, in the city, for me. I won’t be touring in a chorus forever... Right?”

“Of course you won’t, you’re amazing. You can do anything,” Craig said. “I love you so much.” He embraced him close, as close as he could.

“I love you,” Tweek murmured against Craig’s shoulder, and, for as long as possible, they stayed that way, in each other’s arms.

That is, until Josh, the assistant stage manager, a tall, nervous man who bore a strikingly strong resemblance to Craig, cleared his throat. They didn’t know how long he’d been standing by them with a clipboard in one hand. “Hey, uh... Travis?”

“It’s Tweek,” Craig supplied on his husband’s behalf with a snap, causing the harried-looking man to flinch.

“Sorry! Tweek! Look, guys, I hate to break this up, but we really gotta get going.” Sure enough, the bus was closing its cargo hold and, save for Josh, Tweek, and Craig, everybody had boarded. “There’s one _every_ leg, I fuckin’ swear,” Josh muttered to himself as he departed to hover near the bus doors.

“I’ll see you in Denver,” Tweek said.

“Denver,” Craig repeated, and with one final kiss, that was their goodbye.

It would be twenty-four days.

* * *

 

Their Skype calls occurred nearly every day, but between Craig’s nine-to-five at the engineering firm, and Tweek’s odd hours, which were dependent on run-throughs and whether he was matinee or evening, they were often disappointingly brief. Both were more than thankful that they were able to text throughout the day when they weren’t busy, and, while they mostly talked about how their respective lives were coming along without the other, Tweek also took every opportunity he could to send Craig teasing messages and tantalizing pictures of himself from the dressing room in different states of undress, and from various hotel beds - fully naked, save for a smirk.  
  
It wouldn’t be that difficult to do this on his own, were it not for the constant teasing, and edging, and the fact that Tweek was able to get himself off. He was rubbing it in Craig’s face, at every chance, sending paragraphs of poorly-spelled texts about what, exactly, he was doing, and thinking about, and feeling, always peppered with the constant reminder that Craig couldn’t do that. It was maddening; it had turned into an ever-present, excruciating need. Craig often found himself achingly erect at his desk, or at meetings, or on the train; he would wake up soaked in sweat after vivid dreams of hands all over him, grinding his cock against the bed, desperate for any sort of release.  
  
Perhaps today would be the day that Tweek would cave. It _had_ to be the day. He would realize this was stupid, and unfair. It wouldn’t be an extremely long call today, but in the time they had to see each other on camera, it’d be obvious how badly Craig needed it, or so he hoped. When their video call connected, Craig was already flushed with anticipation, and half-mast in his shorts.  
  
“Hey!” Tweek, looking tired, yet content, was sitting cross-legged on his bed, his laptop no doubt unsafely perched upon a stack of books, or his suitcase, as the screen was slightly tilted. He sipped from a large Harbucks to-go cup.  
  
“ _Babe_.” Craig visibly relaxed, slouching into his desk chair with a smile. “Hey. Should you be drinking coffee right now? Bad for your voice.”  
  
Rolling his eyes, Tweek waved his cup at the camera, akin to a toast. “It’s tea, thanks. Sorry if I look kinda… gross right now, I’m just resting.”  
  
“You never look gross, honey. I look gross. Napped before this.”  
  
Tweek’s hair, although disheveled like always, was freshly cut as to style it for the show in that slick, 1930s style that Craig thought, somehow, quite suited him. He looked gorgeous, no matter what. But, although Tweek had seen him in this state many a time, Craig began to feel strangely self-conscious about his sleepy eyes, and unkempt stubble, about the tattered old zip-up he wore over a bare chest and basketball shorts.  
  
“Whatever, Craig, you do not. It’s so fucking good to see you right now, you have no idea.”  
  
Through hundreds of miles, and two computer screens, they were still looking each other in the eyes. They could still feel the undeniable, unbreakable, lifelong connection between them, a connection no distance could sever. “I do too know. Where are you right now?”  
  
“Kansas City. The Kansas one. It sucks here.”  
  
“Well. Can’t be worse than South Park.”  
  
“Y-yeah, I mean. What is?” Tweek leaned back on the bed, propping himself up on a stack of pillows, the camera shifting slightly as he moved. His shirt was riding up, enough to expose the smallest swath of skin between it and his low-slung joggers, that hipbone area Craig so loved to lick and kiss; he couldn’t take his eyes away, couldn’t help but imagine himself hooking his thumbs into the waistband and pulling them down, and god he was already turned on even though they were just sitting there, making small talk, and Tweek most certainly noticed. “See something you like?” Deliberately, he slid his pants down just a fraction, splaying his hand across the lower V of his stomach. When he, just for a moment, slipped his fingers under the elastic, and back out again, Craig drew in a reflexive gasp.  
  
“Fuck yeah,” Craig breathed, without thinking. “Take it off.”  
  
Tweek sniggered. “‘Take it off?’ What am I, a camgirl?” Nevertheless, he set his drink outside the camera’s line of sight, and pulled his t-shirt over his head. Automatically, Craig’s dick twitched, and he bit his lip. Fuck.  Tweek looked even better that way - his pale skin was practically glowing in the lackluster hotel room lighting, and, god, did Craig miss every inch of that beautiful, lanky body.  
  
“No,” he said, feeling dumb, and horny, and unable to find the right words. The only thing he could manage was to grip the arms of his desk chair and dig his fingers into the rough plastic, when all he wanted to do was wrap them around his own cock.  
  
“So,” Tweek chirped, “How’s it going.”  
  
“It’s, uh… Christ. I’m fucking _dying_ here.” The desperation in Craig’s voice was undeniable. “God, I just… can you just give me _something_ . Let me watch you?”  
  
Tweek hooked his thumb in his waistband, making no move to remove any clothing. “Hm,” he said, “You sound a little frustrated, Craig.” He was teasing, and he knew it, and, god, Craig loved it.  
  
“I am fucking frustrated,” Craig snapped back. "You haven't let me cum in two fucking weeks, asshole, the least you can do is show me you dick."  
  
“Uh huh. That hot coworker of yours not enough to look at?” He knew Tweek wasn’t being serious, but he still grimaced. If anything could keep Craig from wanting to touch himself, it was that idiot, Derek.  
  
“Gross, dude. He isn’t hot . He’s a bastard. I fucking hate that guy. He’s such a _fuck_ , it’s like… pull your weight for this project, _Derek_. I’m sick of holding his hand through every step. Fucking moron.”  
  
“Not much temptation here either, going to be honest.” He was speaking casually, and inching his pants lower still, impossibly slow. “Nobody I’d ever, y’know... think about.”  
  
“What about that guy who made us stop saying goodbye,” Craig said, “He looks just like me, yeah?”  
  
“What? Josh? The ASM? Oh my god, _no!_ Just, no way. I don’t even know how he got the job, ‘cause he, he’s like… he’s worse than _me_ , man!”  
  
“How so.”  
  
Tweek laughed, reaching over to take a quick gulp of his tea. “I mean, you think I’m high strung? He’s ten times as anxious. Which is unbelievable, really. And for the record, he’s not even gay.” He ran a hand through his short, perfectly cut hair. “Is it that hard to believe I only want you?”  
  
“Could say the same,” Craig intoned. “You look really sexy today, by the way.”  
  
Tweek let out a small, yelping laugh. “ Sexy? No way, I hate this haircut. I look like… I dunno! Like a Nazi which, yeah, is kind of the point but. I’m growing my hair out forever when this is over.”  
  
“And you’ll still look sexy.”  
  
Something passed between them, over the computer screens; it was the same electric, primal feeling that happened when their eyes met in a crowded room and said, let’s ditch this place and fuck. The same feeling that washed over Craig when Tweek came home after rehearsal and gave him that look and ravished him stupid. Both men, independently, yet simultaneously, sighed.  
  
“Take off that sweatshirt.” The way Tweek's voice had switched over to sounding predatory and sure caused Craig to give in to an involuntary moan as he tossed the hoodie aside as quickly as he could manage. "Shorts," he added, and Craig followed instruction. ”J-Jesus, you’re so hard. Touch yourself."  
  
"Fuck," Craig groaned. His hand hovered over his rigid, aching cock, reluctant to close the distance; he could feel the heat emanating from himself, and from Tweek's gaze. And that gaze, those eyes, were what did him in every time. Aside from the obvious physical feeling, that was always his favorite thing about fucking, or making love, or whatever, with his husband - the way his beautiful, green eyes were overtaken by something heavy and primal, the way he could seemingly tell Craig everything he wanted with just that look. Right now, it was telling him, _Do it._

And so he did, thumbing precum from his slit to slick his hand a bit, and, god. He could not stop himself from pumping a handful of lotion out of the bottle by the computer, the same bottle he had, last week, shoved into a drawer because its mere presence was _taunting_ him _,_ and pumping away, faster than he’d planned, or even _wanted_ to. Right away, he felt as if he was going to lose it, completely, brought to the brink in a matter of seconds.  
  
"Slow down, man!" Tweek was still half-dressed, although his hand was now shoved down the front of his trousers, tenting them as he moved it up and down. "Real slow for me," he murmured, voice an eager growl.  
  
"You. Your pants," Craig choked out. His strokes were agonizing. Each time he passed over the head of his dick, he shuddered.  
  
"Nope," Tweek said dismissively. With his other hand, he reached up to worry an erect, pink nipple between his thumb and forefinger - ever the performer, he was putting on an obvious show, with both his hands now roaming up and down his shaking, taut body, the outline of his cock in the front of his sweatpants mouthwateringly hard. It was all on purpose. Every caress to himself, every exaggerated moan, was meant, Craig just _knew_ it, to drive him wild. To make him cave.

And, god damn it, it was working. “I'm not gonna make it," Craig gasped. He hadn’t sped up, at all, but his thighs were quivering, and he felt the familiar, aching heat, low in his abdomen, which meant he was close. “I have to stop, I….”

“ _No you don’t,_ ” Tweek enunciated, “Keep going.”

With his free hand, Craig was gripping his own thigh, likely hard enough to bruise, trying as well as he could to distract himself, to override his absolute need for orgasm, with any other feeling possible. “Fuck you,” he spat, softly. At this point, he was barely moving the hand grasped around his length. Minutes passed as they continued in this fashion, Craig’s face screwed up in frustration and Tweek’s wide-eyed and smug as they observed one another.

Tweek was taking in small, gasping breaths, catching his own lower lip in his teeth while he rubbed himself under his pants, eyes fixed intently on Craig. “Stop. Hands on the desk.”  
  
“Oh, seriously, _fuck you_ ,” Craig wailed again. Taking his hand off his cock seemed, at that point, an insurmountable task, the last thing he ever, ever wanted to do. Physically, there was nothing stopping him; he could keep going. He could lose. He could take whatever Tweek had planned - after all, he knew he would enjoy every second of it - but, he was determined. He was going to win, and if he didn’t, it would be on mutual terms of ending the bet. Nonetheless, he couldn’t hold back his cries, not anymore. “Tweek,” Craig said, fully aware of how whiny and pathetic he sounded, but not caring in the least, “I need it.”  
  
“No." When Tweek finally slid his pants all the way off, Craig felt embarrassed, in his own home, of the loudness of his frustrated moan.  
  
"Baby, c'mon. Let’s forget the bet.” Nails digging into his palms, Craig's hands remained on the glass of his desktop in tight fists.  
  
"No," repeated Tweek. "Watch me. Don't look away." He stared into the camera, at Craig, as he touched himself, slowly at first, then increasing in speed.  
  
Craig nodded, and noticed that he was bucking his hips, ever so slightly, into the air.  
  
"You _could_ just go ahead and lose," Tweek hissed, "You wanna cum so bad, don’t you?"

“No fucking way,” said Craig with a growl. ”Not this time.”

“Why not?” Tweek gasped, “You love when I f-fuck you. You love when I - oh, _fuck,_ Craig.” His chest and face were the same shade of burning pink that Craig had seen so many times, and loved. His shoulders, thighs, stomach wracked with small twitches. “I’m gonna cum,” he whispered.

If Craig said anything back, at all, that'd be it for him. He nodded again, and bit his lip, and tried to breathe through it, but found himself unable to do anything but pant and squirm in his chair as he suffered through watching Tweek bring himself over the edge. Tweek spat on his palm, gracelessly, and increased the speed of his strokes, all the while biting his lip. He came with a clear moan, and a whisper of Craig’s name. “Jealous?” he panted, hoarsely, still trembling.  
  
"Fucking... fuck you," Craig rasped. "You're not going to be able to walk after I win."  
  
“Oh, please. You’re still coming, right?” He casually leaned over to procure a hotel towel from somewhere on the right side of the bed, cleaning himself off like it was nothing.

Craig glowered at him. “To the _show,_ of course I am.”

“That’s another ten days.”

“I _know,”_ he said through gritted teeth. “I fucking hate you.”

“No you don’t. Think you can make it?”

“That’s for you to decide, isn’t it,” said Craig, with an arch of an eyebrow. “I mean. You’ve sort of been telling me what to do, here.”

Tweek’s mouth stretched across his face in a radiant smile. “Yeah. Guess I _like_ telling you what to do,” he replied, semi-sheepishly, and glanced at his phone. “Damn it… Call time’s five-thirty. I should go.”

“Okay,” said Craig, with a heavy sigh. “Love you. Break legs and stuff.”

“Love _you._ So much. Just ten more days.”

“Ten days,” Craig repeated. “The longest ten days of my fucking life. I can’t wait to see you.”

“You just wanna fuck,” Tweek taunted.

“ _No,_ I just miss you.”

“I miss you too. Ten days.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and yeah, Craig absolutely does win because he's an extremely stubborn motherfucker.
> 
> I'm absolutely obsessed with the backstory/plot of this and I want to write about ten thousand fanfics about actor Tweek.


	7. day nine - frottage (stary)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan Marsh/Gary Harrison. Stan speaking truths about the Mormon church's position on homosexuality is Gary's kink? Gary is a self-hating, brainwashed gay? Sure. Roommate AU, because who doesn't love a roommate AU? 
> 
> Does this fit the frottage prompt? Barely! Do I care? Not at all. Will this series be finished by the end of November? BIG NO!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everything is accurate re: religious things. Call me out if it isn't, but, let's be real it's a kink meme fic, not a theology lesson.
> 
> this was finished like three days ago... and AO3 ate it so i had to rewrite almost the whole thing. that was fun. when I rewrote it, I did The Thing I Do, which is twisting what was supposed to be a short smutty drabble of a pairing I pulled out of my ass in order for it to fit the prompt, into something with an elaborate backstory filled with feelings and stuff, involving more research than necessary, that I want to expand into a multi-chapter epic but never will because there are a million other fics I want to write. I learned something today, and that's ALWAYS MAKE A DOCUMENT, YOU IDIOT, no matter how short the story. 
> 
> Anyway enjoy whatever this is.

"Wait. That doesn’t make any sense. So, it’s not a disease and shouldn’t be cured, but before you get married, you have to ‘deal with your attractions?’ Isn’t that trying to cure it?” Stan closed the description screen of  _Orange is the New Black_ , going to the main menu to find something Gary would be able to watch.

"Not  _really_ ," said Gary, "I don't think so! It's just dishonest and unfair to your future spouse if you don't first deal with those immoral feelings. You can  _be gay_ in my church, you can even marry someone of the opposite sex and still _call yourself_ gay. It's just an abomination to follow through and do, um." He swallowed. "To do those things. Sexually." His face was burning red as he focused on the television screen, watching Stan leisurely scroll through the Family Friendly section of the Netflix menu on his PS4.

“So you can’t act on it. Okay _,”_ Stan said with an arched brow. "I get that part. Can't do that in the Catholic church, either."

Although their dorm room's futon was large enough that Gary could have been on the other side, leaving enough room for another person to sit comfortably between the two of them, Gary was perched a mere arms length from Stan. It wasn't unexpected; Gary didn't seem to have much sense of personal space - he was liberal with encouraging pats on the back, and brotherly hugs. He would tuck Stan's tag back into his t-shirt if it was sticking out, and, without asking, fix his hair if it wasn't laying quite right.  _Just helping you out!_ he'd chime. Stan couldn't help but wonder if that was  _all_ he was doing. But, even if Gary did have some sort of motive, did he even realize it himself?

Did Gary know about him? Stan often found himself wondering if he did. After a semester and a half together, had Gary finally figured him out? Stan always thought that once he'd got to college, he'd be able to live his life the way he wanted. However, once he found out that his randomly-assigned roommate was a Mormon, he had second thoughts about it. The two got along surprisingly well, and Stan knew enough about Gary's odd version of Christianity to know that they didn't take too kindly to anything other than customary heterosexuality. While he knew that the ever-kind Gary would keep up the charade of loving thy neighbor as thyself, and all that bullshit, once he found out about Stan's bisexuality, he still wanted to keep their living situation, and what was blossoming into a friendship of sorts, going as smoothly and painlessly as he could. But, the touching... Sometimes it drove Stan crazy. Sometimes a hug would linger too long, or Gary's fingers would brush against the back of his neck at that spot that made him shiver. He even swore that sometimes he would catch Gary looking at his lips, or his chest, or casting appreciative, up-and-down glances at him when he thought Stan was otherwise preoccupied.

And sometimes, he'd lay awake at night, listening, hoping to hear shallow moans or slick rustlings emanating from the other side of the room. Sometimes, he would hope to a God he no longer believed in that Gary was awake to to hear _him_. And, sometimes, if he was drunk, or upset, or just really, really horny, he made absolutely sure that he heard _everything_ , and, in the morning, Gary would smile at him with his beautiful, straight teeth, and there would be _something_ underneath it, something heavy and sexy and... No. It was just his imagination. Gary was just being  _nice._ Gary was always so, so nice.

Gary let out a stilted laugh. “Of course you can't act on it! But if you do, you can still attend church services! You just can’t really be a _member_ . If I did -” Gary’s eyes went wide. “If, um, if _somebody_ were to do that, that _person_ just couldn’t get a temple recommend.”

 _If I did_. Stan froze, and everything clicked. It was that very moment, when Gary angled his body in Stan's direction, legs crossed ankle-over-knee, arm draped across the back of the futon, and their eyes met in cursory smiles that Stan realized he  _wanted_ Gary to have a motive. And, maybe he wasn't mistaken. Maybe he was looking, and touching, and maybe... oh,  _god._ He tried to ignore the pins-and-needles burning in his face, and the way his stomach dropped out when his elbow, resting against the back of the couch as to allow his hand to support his head, brushed against his roommate's arm.

“I can't find anything I want to watch. S'all yours.” Stan set down his controller, the Netflix home screen idle on his television. "What's a temple recommend?"

Gary’s face fell a bit. "Oh. Well. I'm not really supposed to go into detail with non-members," he said, "But... It's kind of when you meet with your bishop, and they ask you some questions to determine your worthiness of joining a church? And then there's other recommends, like if you're going to be sealed - uh, married." Gary looked at the controller on the coffee table before them, but did not pick it up. "It's great, though. Being in the church. I love the sense of community. And I love my family. We wouldn't be so close, if it weren't for the church." A superficial grin was pasted onto his face.

“Yeah. Sounds _really_ great, dude. And you can’t jack off? Even if you’re straight? Great," he chided.

Gary chuckled. “You're not supposed to. It’s against the law of chastity.” While he was still smiling ear to ear, trying to look sure, and perhaps even pompous, there was something underneath it, in his eyes, in the way his lips did not curl up at the corners in exactly the right way, that exuded deeply-hidden distress. "Stan, aren’t you Catholic? You do almost the exact same thing, right? It’s pretty hypocritical to judge _my_ faith when your priests can’t even marry, don't you think? We recognize loving, opposite-sex marriage as _holy_ ,” he gloated, “Even with our priests. Without that union, they aren’t guaranteed a place in the Celestial Kingdom.”

“No, my _family_ is Catholic,” Stan clarified, “Even though they suck at it. They're kinda Catholic-in-name-only. I don’t practice anymore. I don’t agree with a lot of their shi- uh, teachings.”

“Like what?”

Rather than get into his problems with his former faith, Stan sighed and turned to face Gary. “There’s a lot, but… dude, I’m not saying the religion I grew up in is without fault. I mean, look how well that priesthood celibacy thing has worked out for the Catholics. I don't agree with it either.” Half throwing caution to the wind, and half simply hoping that Gary wouldn't pick up on anything untoward, he let his arm drop, purposefully lining it up so that the back of his hand pressed against Gary’s thigh, clad in soft, plaid flannel pants. His roommate, rather than shuffling away, minutely flexed his thigh muscle, moving his leg at the hip, a fraction of an inch, closing any sort of gap that may have existed between them. "Do regular Mormons have issues with people getting molested too? Or is that just on the compounds like in that HBO show?" Stan joked.

Gary's face drooped into a frown. "Don't be a d-bag," he said, reaching for the controller. "Let's just watch, uh... Wanna watch Moana again?"

"Sure," Stan said, casting his eyes toward where their limbs were still touching. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Gary's lingering stare, not on the film that had just started, but on  _him_ , carefully scrutinizing his face, but snapping away toward the television once he picked up on the fact that Stan was watching him, too.

It was around fifteen minutes into a movie they'd both seen many times, fifteen minutes of palpable tension, a humming, electric sensation passing between the parts of them that were only just touching, that Gary leaned into Stan, head on his shoulder. His side-parted, blonde hair was soft against Stan's jaw and bore a nondescript, clean-shampoo scent, which was fitting for somebody as generically handsome as Gary. Stan allowed his eyes to flutter shut, his mouth opening silent contentment. Without thinking, he shifted slightly, enough to press the upper halves of their torsos together, relaxing his own head so that it rested upon the other man's. He swore he wouldn't nuzzle his face against his hair, until it was too late and he found himself doing just that. Gary's thigh twitched.

"Hey Stan." Gary's voice, although soft, still seemed to pierce the air.

"Yeah?" he replied, blushing when his own voice came out in a strained squeak.

"I've been meaning to ask you something. But I never had the chance and I was kind of afraid to, but I was just curious. And you don't have to tell me, because it's really none of my business but. Are you..." Gary trailed off, not finishing the question, but Stan knew exactly what he was asking, and couldn't believe it was happening  _now,_ of all times. He shifted his face to be as stony as he could make it, which he supposed didn't matter since Gary was looking straight ahead, and nodded, slowly.

"Is that why you left the church?"

He nodded again, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers out of embarrassment and vulnerability. "Yeah. Part of it. I'm, uh." He shut his eyes. "I'm bi, anyway, not gay, but. Same difference, when it comes to religion, right?"

"Oh. Okay." Gary didn't move. "I'm fine with it, don't worry."

They stared at the television screen, not speaking or moving away. It could have been seconds, or minutes, Stan wasn't paying attention to specifics but what he  _did_ know was that Gary re-positioned his arm, and he he was brushing his fingers hesitantly against the back of Stan's neck, in that same spot that he'd favor when fixing his shirts, and he was pausing to run a lock of Stan's hair through his fingers, and then his hand was at the apex of where his shoulders began, becoming more confident, kneading. Stan leaned into the touch, feeling heat shoot between his legs, and he noticed his own hand was now resting on top of Gary's leg. He wondered how long it'd been like that. 

"What's it like," Gary said, after a while, still massaging Stan's shoulders.

"Hm?" Stan grunted.

The noise Gary made could have been a laugh, had it not sounded so desperate and overwrought. "Um. Being, uh. _With._ " He was normally so well-spoken, but his words seemed to catch on the front of his lips, his voice a wavering stammer. "Being with another guy?" When Stan didn't answer, too nervous and dumbstruck to find the right words, Gary continued, tripping over every phrase. "So, there's something you... Okay. So. _Okay._ I'm, um. I'm not bisexual, my church doesn't believe in that anyway but I'm, um. You know...  _you know._  Maybe. Uh. Probably." His eyes were wide, and he looked as nervous as the Tweak boy from Stan's elementary school as he shifted away from Stan, enough to look at him without straining his neck, but not enough to break away from the parts of them that were still touching. "Please don't tell anyone," he whispered.

Stan tried to smile reassuringly, but feared that it came off as more predatory than anything else. _Knew it,_ he thought. "Secret's safe with me, dude," he said. He decided to remain stationary, neither pulling away, nor furthering any touches that were already underway. If what he thought was going to happen, was, in fact, happening, he didn't want to mess it up. He was playing with fire as is - he was his  _roommate_ , he was a  _Mormon,_ and they couldn't be out, they couldn't go drinking, they couldn't even see a decent film, or have coffee; and there would be self-hatred, and repression, and estrangement from families and all manner of bullshit that Stan would have to deal with, but, when Gary suddenly moved, tossing a thigh over Stan's and pulling himself into a straddle alongside Stan's muscular thigh, his dick half-mast and pressing against Stan's leg, every trepidation flew out the window.

He wasn't imagining things, and he never had been. Every touch, and glance, and every smile flashed back to him at once, and he realized, with a barely-stifled moan, that they  _both_ wanted it.

"So I kinda like you," Gary said, flashing his all-American, cookie cutter smile at Stan, his eyes heavy under faint, blonde eyelashes. "I know I shouldn't."

" _Wow_ _,_ um. Okay? We really shouldn't be doing this," Stan choked out, knowing full well how aroused he sounded. When he felt Gary's half-hard cock twitch against his leg, his own did the same.

"I know. It's immoral," Gary breathed, shifting his hips ever so slightly. "It's a sin." He pressed his hips harder yet in more of a grind than a thrust, apprehensively at first; but, as he hardened against the man beneath him, his movements likewise gained confidence.  "It's not -  _oh_ , gosh."

Stan gasped, too, allowing the other man to press against him, on his hip, staying still when he so desperately wanted to match his movements. "Not _that,_ chill out. I just meant because we're roommates. Don't wanna make things weird."

"It's _already_ weird. I've seen the way you look at me," Gary said, eyes fixed upon Stan's mouth.

"Yeah," Stan breathed. He reached out to run his hands against Gary's thighs, beginning in the back, feeling taut muscles tense up beneath his hands, sweeping around to run his thumbs along the divot of his hips. Each time he gasped, or shuddered underneath his touch, Gary bore his pelvis down harder. "What about the way  _you_  look at  _me._  You look at me all the time."He trailed his fingers along the tops of his thighs, not stopping when he reached the outline of his erection.

For a moment, Gary allowed it to happen, tossing his head back with a groan and pushing into the touch, until the flash of unbridled, shameless lust across his face gave way to raw, slack-jawed panic. "Don't!" he cried, pushing Stan's hands away. "Sorry. I just can't, I..." his face contorted into an apologetic grimace, although his eyes were still clouded with arousal.

Stan set his jaw, biting back a number of possible comebacks, and traveled his grasp to either side of Gary's hips. "Okay. What about this?"

“ _Oh_ _my gosh, yes,"_ he breathed. And he was rocking against Stan, slowly, his lips parted in silent rapture. His hands, shaking and twitching each time he moved, remained at his side, arms bent at the elbow. It was as if touching Stan would turn it into something real - if he were to touch the other man, it would turn into an  _act_. It would shift from a experimental fumbling that meant nothing and would be easily repented, into something unforgivable and terrible, and that was all Stan wanted, right then. He matched each press and thrust with a pull or push of his hands, like he was helping his roommate grind on him and, judging by the amount of lip-biting and slight groaning and twitching, it was appreciated. "I hear you at night, he whispered, hovering his mouth close to Stan's ear, but not making contact, still reluctant to touch with any other part of his body. "Every time," he added with a moan.

Stan emitted a shuddering gasp. "Yeah?"

"You drive me crazy," he said, eyes shut. "You make me question everything, and I..." He sighed, resigned, as he moved his shaking hands to wrap around Stan's upper arms, somewhat awkwardly, keeping the distance between their upper bodies as before.

Despite the other man initiating all of it, despite the way their bodies fit, and how badly he wanted to continue, to have _more,_ Stan couldn't help but feel a bit guilty. "Please don't freak out about this later," he said.

"No, I won't.. It's not... this doesn't count?" Gary supplied weakly, between small gasps.

“What? You’re totally gonna come in your pants. From rubbing against another guy.” Just then, he noticed their mouths were mere millimeters apart. “It counts.” Gary shuddered against him, his brow drawn into the center of his forehead, wide open eyes looking into Stan’s with an expression of thunder-struck longing. And, he didn't know why he said it, and barely registered he had until it'd already occurred, but he _did_ , with a low growl in Gary's ear, pressing their cheeks flush together: _"Sinner."_  That did something to Gary, something wonderful, his eyes blown out to near blackness with arousal as he let out a keening moan, and he  _finally_ closed the gap between their bodies by wrapping an arm around Stan's shoulders, cradling the back of his neck.

“'Let he who is without sin cast the first stone,' _Stan_ ,” Gary recited with a half-grin, sounding a bit sarcastic but no less worked-up.

Stan smiled “Everybody knows _that_ one.” When he slid his hands underneath Gary's shirt and ran guitar-calloused fingers along his spine, they both trembled. "How about one from  _your_ book?"

"'Thrust in your sickle with all your soul, and your sins are forgiven you,'" Gary said, sounding frenzied, and winded, and a little terrified. "Doctrine and Covenants, section 31." He pressed his thigh down, deliberately, against the bulge in Stan's shorts. "'Let your sins trouble you, with that trouble which shall bring you down unto repentance.' That's from... oh, no. I don't remember right now." He brushed an unsteady hand along the stubble on Stan's jaw, ghosting fingertips across his lips.

 _"Fuck_ _,"_ Stan grumbled, causing the man on top of him to throw his head back in ecstasy, those forbidden curse words shaking him to the very core as he inexpertly moved his hips in rapid, squirming circles, his cock pulsing and erect through his lounge pants.  _"G_ _od,"_ Stan continued. "God  _damn it."_ Unable to hold back, he moved his hands back down to Gary's hips, pulling him roughly to the side so he was right on top of him, their lengths at last aligned through layers of fabric. Gary's mouth opened, soundlessly, his jaw quivering as they rocked against one another." _Shit,"_ Stan swore. The temptation of the exposed, tanned skin of Gary's neck, right in front of him, was no longer avoidable. He wasted no precious time on light brushes of lips or tentative pecks; instead, he pressed wet, sucking kisses from where neck met shoulder, to the expanse of skin behind his ear. _"Fucking... fuck_ ," he whispered against Gary's ear, dragging his tongue along the shell and down to worry his earlobe between his lips and teeth, all the while causing Gary to further wriggle and moan. "Sinner," he repeated, lowly, his blue eyes meeting even bluer ones as their foreheads pressed together.

“Fu- oh, g... dag _nab_ it, I want to kiss you." Gary looked awestruck, like something momentous and life-changing had just occurred, and, Stan felt a lurch in his stomach, and a swell of pride in his chest, when he realized he was the cause of it.

“So, kiss me.”

“I can’t.”

“What if I do it first? What if I just _kiss you-”_ He ground his hips upwards, applying just enough pressure to Gary's cock to make him buck  his hips in turn, with a tremor. "-just fucking, uh, shove my tongue in your mouth. _You_ wouldn't be acting on anything.  _I_ would."

Gary froze on top of him. No longer was his expression blissful - he was petrified. His eyes were wide, his brow knotted, and, he gulped as he asked in a hoarse, unnerved voice, “But what if I kissed you back?”

Stan  could think of nothing to do other than pull him close, in what he hoped was a comforting embrace. "'The Lord our God is merciful and forgiving, even though we have rebelled against Him,'" Stan said against Gary's chest. He was surprised he remembered that one. "Just kiss me, okay?"

Speaking not to Stan, but to himself, or something unseen, Gary mumbled, into the air, "'He that repents and does the commandments shall be forgiven.'"

He was the one to initiate the kiss, bringing his lips chastely to Stan's; however, Stan was the one who deepened it. One hand tangled in Gary's soft, blonde hair and the other brazenly gripped the top of his ass as they ground against each other, and Stan lapped his tongue against his lips, parting them, swirling their tongues together, slowly at first. Gary pulled away.

“Shut the front door,” he said with an ecstatic grin. "That was..." Rather than finishing his sentence, he tangled both hands into Stan's hair, pulling him forward and initiating kiss after seemingly never-ending kiss. He was clearly inexperienced, and clumsy; he used too much tongue and his teeth knocked against Stan's every few moments, and he was too frantic and quick and didn't meet Stan's pace but was he ever eager, was he ever happy, so Stan let him. He'd stilled his own hips once more, allowing Gary to work himself into a frenzy, in his own frantic pattern of thrusts. His whole body was taut and reverberating against Stan's touch, and, by the sounds he was making, it was obvious what Stan was doing to him, what he was doing to  _himself_. His hands seemed to be everywhere, stroking Stan's chest, twisting in his hair, grasping desperately onto his back, and Stan could feel his thighs shaking, and shoulders tensing. "Oh, no," Gary breathed, and that was it for him - Stan felt his cock pulse against his own while he kissed him deeper than ever before, allowing him to moan into his mouth and quiver against him as he rode out what Stan knew was his first orgasm with another person. There was a sensation of wet heat through their layers of clothing as Gary collapsed, shaking. Stan stroked his hair, and held them there, on top of him, not speaking, until he silently extracted himself from Stan's embrace.

He was across the room and back faster than Stan registered. He'd tossed his ruined pants and underwear into the hamper in favor of similar ones, maroon this time instead of light blue, and returned to sit, straight-backed and wordless, next to his roommate once more. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but closed it again when no words came. A look of unmistakable guilt and shame was starting to settle onto his face; however, he kept no more distance between he and Stan as before, instead sitting thigh-to-thigh, brushing his knuckles along Stan's knee.

"You'd probably be happier if you just came out and left the church," Stan blurted out, unthinkingly. They stared at each other, for seconds, a heavy feeling of uncertainty beginning to descend upon their room. "It'd be easier on you, and um. You said you like me. And I like you and that was really great so... Maybe I could take you out sometime? Like, on a date?"

Gary took a deep, shaking breath. "Stan... I'm sorry. I can't." He pressed a final, chaste kiss to Stan's lips. "I'm so sorry."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fuuuuuuuuck POOR STAN. JUST LET HIM LOVE YOU, GARY! 
> 
> (I think I love this ship and tbh I was totally imagining Goth (joth?) Stan as I wrote this, which makes it even better. ohhh. opposites attract ships are the absolute best and I need to write more of this, just for myself, even if other people couldn't care less).


	8. day twenty - threesomes (stendyle)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A snowstorm causes Stan, Kyle, and Wendy to stay in on New Year's Eve, getting stupid on boxed wine. Sometimes, what seems like a questionable decision turns out to be something life-changing and incredibly right.
> 
> Stendyle. Warnings: drunk sex that is very, very consensual from all parties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I use they/their/them pronouns for Wendy. This isn't all that explicit, honestly... the actual _sex_ is kinda glossed-over, but it's still NSFW just like everything else in this fic. What on earth are you doing here if you can't look at NSFW things anyway.
> 
> You know those nights when you get drunk with friends and you just act like complete idiots but you have those conversations that you'll remember for the rest of your life, even through the haze of alcohol, and you wake up in the morning feeling hungover and like complete shit but you're just so happy anyway and everything feels right and great? Or is it just me? A lot of memories of myself and my dumb friends came back to me while writing this and now I'm all happy and nostalgic and. Ugh. I love these three and want them to be happy too!
> 
> Extra special thanks to @dope-strawberry on tumblr for helping me with drunk!characterizations of Stan, Kyle, and Wendy!

Snow flurried inside after Wendy, as they hurriedly shut the door to their and Stan’s first-floor apartment, cradling a box of wine under one arm, holding another in by the handle on the same side, and balancing a couple pizza boxes in the other.

“It’s the Tour de Franzia, bitches!” They kicked the door shut, and, with a toss of their hair, sent yet more snow onto the floor.

“Please never say that again,” Stan laughed. “Car okay?” He was perched upon the couch with his head resting upon the armrest, feet stretched out so that they rested upon Kyle’s lap, who relaxed on the other end. It was nothing unusual for them to sit next to each other with small touches like feet on a lap, or shoulders leaning into one another - they’d been doing it for their whole lives, and thought nothing of it; besides, Wendy regarded it as cute, and refreshing that two male best friends could be as affectionate with each other as Stan and Kyle.

Wendy shucked off their boots onto the mat in the entryway, then moved to set down the goods on the coffee table. “Car’s still running, but it’s getting really bad out there. We could _maybe_ make it to Denver yet, if you guys changed your minds?” After tossing their coat and hat onto the back of a chair, they moved to flop down onto the couch, pink-cheeked and rubbing their chilly hands together. “Everyone is already there. I guess I feel a little guilty that we aren’t going.”

“No way. You’ve already got the stuff.” Kyle rose, making way to Stan and Wendy’s kitchen to grab some wine glasses. After staying with them for going on three weeks of his winter break from graduate school, he’d learned where everything was in the kitchen, and was more than comfortable making himself at home. “They’ll survive one party without us.”

“Yeah. Sucks for everyone else when they’re stuck there in the morning all snowed-in and hungover. Hm… Sunset Blush and Chillable Red,” Stan murmured the wine names from the side of the boxes. “And they’re both disgusting. Hey, Kyle, grab me a beer?”

“Sure. Wait, dude, you only have like…” Kyle examined the contents of the fridge. “Four beers left. I’ll just bring ‘em all. You’ll just have to deal with the Franz after that.”

“Aw, goddamn it. Hon, text Nichole that we’re not gonna make it - ow! You’re on my legs, asshole!” After setting down his haul from the kitchen, Kyle had inelegantly plopped himself down upon the open cushion between Stan and Wendy.

“Wendy stole my spot,” he said, pressing the button on a wine spout to pour some for both himself and Wendy as Stan adjusted his legs, once again resting them on Kyle’s lap, to which there were no protestations - rather, he fluffed up a nearby throw pillow, positioning it on top of Stan’s shins and resting his arms atop it.

“You absolutely sure we’re not going? Let me know _now,_ so I can get ready.” It was obvious Wendy had no intention of changing out of their leggings and oversized sweater, and into the tight, glittery number in the back of their closet, as they had just taken the soft throw from the back of the sofa and wrapped it around their shoulders, tucking their feet underneath them and curling up with their wine glass.

Stan and Kyle issued a collective _no,_ and, as Wendy shrugged and, after firing off a quick _Sorry we can’t make it! Stupid car can’t handle the drive in the snow. HAVE FUN and happy new year to you and Token!!!_ to Nichole, that was that.

“Well, happy new year, then.” Wendy raised their wine glass in a toast, followed suit by Kyle with his own, near-overfilled, glass of red, and Stan with his can of PBR.

The three of them made it through the stupid action movie Stan picked out, munching on pizza. After a heated conversation about gun control, inspired by the action hero’s heavy arsenal, they began to get a little stupid on wine, judging by Kyle and Wendy’s biting commentary of the film. Stan, after finishing his third PBR, leaving the fourth on the coffee table for later and switching to wine, giggled along to their banter with a dopey grin on his face.

Wendy filled another glass of Sunset Blush nearly to the brim, taking an immediate, long sip. “What do you two want to _do_ , anyway? Sit here and watch bad movies all night?” They thumbed through the gaming console’s main menu, opting to turn on a playlist of generic-sounding acoustic pop rather than start another film.

“We could play a game, or something,” Stan suggested. He was playing with the pull tab of his empty beer can; it made a dull _ping_ noise each time he flicked it with his fingernail. “I dunno. Monopoly?”

“Lame,” Kyle bellowed, hitting Stan with the throw pillow in his lap. When Kyle drank, he tended to become rambunctious and touchy, something that always worked in his advantage when he would attend parties in undergrad. His fellow students were often surprised that someone who was widely regarded as a studious, haughty person with a hair-trigger temper was so happy, carefree, and physical when he drank to excess - which, admittedly, wasn’t too often, as it messed with his blood sugar. _“Monopoly,_ dude? The lamest.” He laughed, pushing his hair back - a futile endeavor, as his curls sprung immediately to their original place. Kyle’s cheeks were splotched with pink, and his lips sported a patch of wine-red in the center that almost resembled a bruise.

Stan gave Kyle a casual shove with his elbow. “Dick. Hey Wendy...” He paused, a pensive expression on his face which quickly morphed into a slight smile. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth or dare? Oh my _god.”_ Wendy let out a clear laugh. “I haven’t played that in like….ten years, are you kidding?”

“I mean, we could,” he said. “Why not? Just for nostalgia's sake. Could be fun.”

“Could be _lame_ ,” Wendy said, and Kyle snickered in agreement.

“Well, there aren’t that many drinking games for three people. Unless you want to try the Terrance and Phillip game again.” Stan made the entire group grimace, thinking of the ill-fated night the three of them, plus Bebe and Kenny, tried to take a sip each time Terrance or Phillip farted on each other - a night that, needless to say, ended in vomit and tears. “Kyle’s in,” Stan volunteered with a shrug, to which Kyle scoffed. Stan slid off the sofa and onto the floor for easier access to the coffee table, the others following suit. They stayed in their original seating order, Kyle in the middle, his crossed legs bumping against Stan and Wendy’s thighs.

“You’re just gonna decide _for_ me that I’m in? Dude.” Kyle chuckled into his wine glass. “Fine. But if anyone gets dared to shove something in their urethra this time, I’m walking to my parents’. I don’t care _how_ hard it’s snowing.”

“Bebe’s not here, so we should be fine. You can even go first,” said Wendy, patting Kyle’s thigh.

“All right, uh. Wendy.”

“Dare.”

“Okay, um, dare… I dare you to… uh... text Cartman?” He chuckled. "Yeah. Text him."

Wendy shrieked. “Cartman! About what?”

Upon seeing the shock upon Wendy’s face, Kyle couldn’t hold back his laughter. “Tell him you miss him!”

_“Gross,_ no! I’m not talking to Fatass!”

Kyle was laughing harder now, his face turning even redder. “Tell him you’re _so_ -” he hiccuped, “- so _sad_ that he isn’t here and that you wish him _all_ the best, and you’re just _so_ sorry that he, um, that you didn’t get to give him a big, fat, New Year’s _kiss.”_

Wendy’s laughter, together with Kyle’s, and a couple light chuckles from Stan, pealed around the living room. “Fuck no! I forfeit this dare! Fuck you, Kyle.”

“Hold on, okay, so there has to be a rule,” Stan rose, wavering on his feet a bit, and headed to the kitchen, which was close enough to their living room that Kyle and Wendy could still hear them clearly. He began digging in a cabinet. “ _There_ it is. There’s gotta be a rule, guys, that every time someone wusses out on a dare, or on a question, they have to take a shot of _this.”_ The bottle in his hand, stopped by a cork which he quickly unpopped, contained a dark amber liquid and a label bearing a name of… Mc _Something_ that nobody cared to make sense of, and looked prohibitively expensive.

_“Stanley._ That is twelve year old Scotch, we are _not_ taking shots of that.”

“It’s New Year’s Eve!” Stan protested, “And it’s the only liquor we _have_ right now because you didn’t _get_ any, Wends.”

“Fine, but we’re not taking _shots,_ I just can’t bring myself to do that, I _cannot_ . We’ll be taking _sips.”_ Wendy accepted the bottle from Stan’s outstretched hand, and took a pull. They shivered and let out a _whew_. “Kyle, you’re an asshole. Truth or dare?”

Kyle’s mouth was set into a suspicious line. “Truth, I guess,” he said. “Gimme that, Wendy.” With a grumble under their breath about wasting money, Wendy reluctantly handed the bottle over to Kyle, who, despite having no question to relinquish, took a slight sip, and handed it to Stan. “For solidarity, or something,” he said, before Stan washed down his own mouthful of whisky.

“Okay…” Wendy took a gulp of wine, pausing to think. Their face lit up with a grin. “Oh, I’ve got one! Kyle, have you ever been with a woman?” They interrupted Kyle’s groan, knowing what he was going to say. “Other than Isla, because we all know _that_ story.”

“Hey, she was a nice girl!” Kyle retorted. “Yes, I _have._ Two, actually, in undergrad so that’s _not_ counting Isla. But she should count! Isla was-”

“A nice girl, we know,” Wendy interrupted, causing Stan to emit a chuckle from next to them.

“It wasn’t so nice when she told everyone you couldn’t get it up,” Stan laughed. “And then told everyone _why.”_

Kyle rolled his eyes. “I had to come out eventually. In a weird way, she did me a favor.” He reached to the coffee table to fill his glass, then, turned his eyes to Wendy. “I mean. I’ve been with non binary people and all, too. When I got to college, I realized I’m not so much gay as I am…pansexual? Maybe? Still like di - uh, _men_ the best, though.” Aware that was perhaps an over-share, but not particularly caring, he took a large swig of wine, any remaining pretense of slowly sipping or savoring that cheap, glorified grape juice out the window, and cocked an eyebrow at Wendy. “Your turn.”

“Hey… I’m a non-binary person,” they said, and when their eyes locked with Kyle’s in an equally cheeky raise of eyebrows, there was a fleeting moment of chest-tightening tension.

“I, uh.” Kyle swallowed, and cleared his throat. “Did you ever tell Stan about what happened with you and-”

“Red? Yes, I did,” Wendy finished for him. “You don’t have dirt on me anymore, Kyle. Stanley and I are honest with each other. Truth or dare, sweetie?”

“Eh, I’m going dare,” said Stan.

“I dare you to, uh… mix together _both_ the wines, since you love them _so_ much. In a pint glass! And chug it.”

In response, Stan shot Wendy a glare and grabbed the scotch, taking a long pull that made him exhale and screw his eyes shut. “Forfeit. That’s worse than calling Cartman. Uh, texting. Whatever.”

They glared back. “Okay. I dare you to kiss Kyle instead.” There was something knowing and furtive in their eyes as they waited for Stan’s response. He’d opened his mouth as if to reply, then closed it again, instead sharing wordless communication with Wendy that was indecipherable to an outsider, even Kyle, but obvious to the two of them. Which, Kyle thought, made sense. He and Stan benefited from a similar phenomenon, always had - only natural that Stan would have it with Wendy, as well. “Stan,” Wendy started again.

Then, Stan shrugged with a grin, turning toward his best friend and grabbing him by the shoulders. They gave each other a small peck on the lips, like it was nothing. “Okay, done,” Stan said. “Wendy. Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” said Wendy. They finished off their glass of wine, lips parting in a small _ahh_.

“Well... how about _you_ kiss Kyle? ‘S’only fair.”

“Sure,” Wendy replied dismissively. “C’mere, Ky.”

“Careful dude, wine makes Wendy horny.” Stan, rather than sounding annoyed, or jealous of the fact that his best friend was about to make out with his fiance, spoke in a breathy, curious tone.

“It’s fine, wine makes _me_ horny,” Kyle blurted out, blush spreading across his cheeks and his eyebrows immediately disappearing beneath the curls that hung down his forehead once he realized what he’d said. “Why is everyone kissing _me_ ,” he barely got out before Wendy’s hands were on either side of his face, and their lips, soft and full and tasting of nothing but booze, locked with his own. There was nothing tentative about the way Wendy kissed him. They captured Kyle’s lower lip in their own, sweeping their tongue across it before delving into his mouth; neither wanting gentleness, all uncertainty dissolved, Kyle twisted his hand into the worn, soft yarn of Wendy’s sweater, pulling them closer, melting into them as their tongues entwined. They pulled away with a lick of their shining-wet lips and an astonished smile.

“Whoa.” Kyle sighed in tandem with Stan, who was watching with saucer-wide eyes.

“Yeah. Whoa.” Wendy was smiling ear-to-ear. “Kyle-“

He didn’t allow Wendy to finish their sentence. “Dare.”

“Kiss Stan like I just kissed you,” they deliberately articulated, and Kyle exhaled out of relief, or nervousness, or both as he turned to his best friend.

_This okay?_ He asked Stan with his eyes, knowing he would get an answer one way or another. When the sheepish smile and downward tilt of his head, and the parting of his lips screamed _yes. Absolutely, yes,_ Kyle, without hesitation, grabbed him by the back of his head, his onyx hair sleek beneath his fingers, his eyelashes long enough to brush against Kyle’s cheeks as they fluttered shut, and when his lips, thin and slightly chapped but still soft and beautiful and right and _Stan_ , collided against his own in an alcohol-soaked frenzy, it was, right off the bat, deep, and frantic, and _everything._ Stan’s hands were clutching his shoulders, and he was making small mewls into Kyle’s mouth, his lips and tongue and teeth hungry like it was the last thing he would ever do, and the only thing he’d ever needed.

Both knew that neither wanted to part, but Kyle did, with a final dart of his tongue across Stan’s lower lip. His hands traveled away from Stan’s hair, one returning to his booze, the other trailing to rest atop Stan’s thigh. And Stan, he’d moved his own underneath Kyle’s sweatshirt, massaging tiny circles into the expanse of skin above his jeans. Kyle let out a small, unbelieving gasp. “Truth or dare, dude.”

“Truth,” Stan whispered.

“I know everything about you already. Why does it have to be truth.”

“It’s truth,” he repeated.

_Do you like me? Do you_ love _me? Do you want more, should we keep going, is Wendy okay with this, and do they want it too? Can I just kiss and touch you everywhere until we-_ Kyle, instead, blurted out, “What’s the weirdest thing you two do? Like… in bed?”

“Aw, man, I dunno-“ began Stan.

Wendy cut him off. “I fuck him,” they stated like it was just a simple fact. “With a strap-on. But, only sometimes, not like, every time we have sex but-“

Stan blanched, but did not move his hand from the small of Kyle’s back. “ _Wendy_ , Jesus Christ-“

“-just like _sometimes_ and, oh my god, he-“

They spoke over each other. “Shit, come on, don’t tell him about the-“

Stan was silenced by a raise of a well-manicured finger, as Wendy pointedly took another long sip of wine. “He loves it. You wouldn’t even _believe_ it. And he’s a _total_ dirty-talker-“

“- _Aw,_ man, that’s private, he doesn’t need to know-“

“-you should hear him beg. It’s awesome,” they finished. They were turned towards Stan and Kyle, watching, their feet pressed against Kyle’s legs, their arm on the back of the sofa, close to Kyle.

Kyle couldn’t help the stupid grin that stretched across his face. “Oh, um. Oh yeah? Dude.”

Stan didn’t elaborate on Wendy’s answer, but took a long gulp, finishing off his glass, and, with a steadfast wipe of his mouth, said, “They stole my turn. Ask me another one, Kyle.” He handed his glass to his fiance, who filled it again.

Rather than ask him a question, Kyle alternated his gaze from his wine glass, on which he was circling his finger around the rim, to Stan, and Wendy, trying to find some cue to give him an idea as to what to ask, or do. Finding nothing but expectant stares, he set his wine down. Stan’s thigh flexed under his other hand; Wendy’s fingers brushed against the back of his neck, and he bit his lip. _Drunken words are sober thoughts,_ he thought, before he began speaking.  “I used to think about what it would be like to kiss you. Touch you. And I used to wonder if you thought about it too. All the way back from when we were kids, y’know?” He fixed his stare onto Stan, voice dropping into a hopeful whisper. “Do you? Think about it?” There was something different about saying it aloud. To actually speak of it, rather than trade wordless glances, made it final, made it real - a prospect which, though appealing, and incredibly _right,_ was still and all terrifying; it was twenty-four years of friendship leading to a realization and a deed that, no matter the outcome, they would never be able to take back. But Kyle, at that moment, did not care. “Do you want it? As much as I do? Wendy?” he glanced at them, “Do you? Is this… _do you?_ ”

Wendy nodded, slowly, and Stan’s mouth opened. His lower lip caught on his teeth, and, for a moment, he was unable to wrench his eyes away from his best friend - his emerald eyes, and wine-stained lips, the sharp angle of his jaw, the way the stretched-out collar of his shirt showed a smattering of freckles on his collarbone. “I… Dude, you’re so drunk,” he mumbled.

“ _You’re_ drunk.” Kyle’s eyes were hazy with alcohol, and apprehension, and unmistakable want.

“Not as drunk as you, _Sunset Blush,_ ” said Stan, a slight slur tainting his voice.

“Boys. I think we’ve established that we’re _all_ drunk.” Rather than slur or stammer, Wendy had a tendency to show their intoxication by getting louder, and over-articulating their words, like if they enunciated enough, nobody would be able to tell that they were well on their way to wasted. “Everyone is, you know, _just_ as shitfaced as the other and, like. We’re drunk.” They grinned, turning so their head rested back on the couch and, with a hitched giggle, inched their hand into Kyle’s hair. “Your hair is pretty, Kyle,” they said. “I’ve always thought that. You have such beautiful hair.”

Although relaxing into the touch, his eyes heavy-lidded and shoulders slack, Kyle made a face. “I hate my hair,” he breathed.

“Shouldn’t. It’s beautiful,” Wendy repeated. Their fingers twisted around his red curls, nails lightly scratching his scalp. Kyle closed his eyes, his exhale shaky through his nose.  “It’s unique. It’s _you._ And it’s really soft. Stan, come play with Kyle’s hair. It’s nice.” And Stan did, setting down his drink and leaning his head onto Kyle’s shoulder, his hand meeting Wendy’s in Kyle’s thick mane of red.

“S’nice,” Stan agreed, as Kyle melted under them. Stan had snaked his other hand further up Kyle’s shirt, following the curve of his spine, and Wendy, finally abandoning their wine, wrapped themselves around Kyle’s back with legs on either side of him, as he’d turned his attentions to Stan, pulling him close, touching his hair again, rubbing his back. When they did, Kyle reached around to give their thigh a caress.

“Kyle, kiss Stan again,” they said.

“But it isn’t my-”

“Kyle. Kiss Stan again,” they repeated, sharper.

_Yes,_ said Stan’s expression once Kyle shot him a quizzical glance. “I’ve always thought about you,” Stan managed to whisper before Kyle once again closed the distance between their mouths. This time, it was slower, a languid, wet, tangle of tongues and soft, yet firm caresses of hands, everywhere.

Stan broke the kiss. His mouth was open, panting, his brows furrowed in the middle of his forehead, eyes wide and honest. He was always an emotional drunk, and it was no surprise when he said, softly, “Love you, dude.”

Kyle smiled. “We’re drunk,” he stated. “Does it even matter that we’re drunk?”

“No. I don’t care, I fucking… I _love_ you, dude. And I love _you_ , Wendy. A lot,” Stan said, squeezing their hand over Kyle’s back, before returning to Kyle’s hair and pulling him in for another kiss.

“You too.” Wendy’s mouth was on Kyle’s neck, tongue tracing the pattern of the freckles sprinkled below his hairline, lips on the junction of neck and shoulder, their hands, all the while, tangling in his hair, meeting Stan’s, guiding one of his down Kyle’s back, all the way down to cup the curve of his ass, which Stan, while groaning into Kyle’s mouth, squeezed. “He tells me how bad he wants you,” they said against Kyle’s ear, their tongue darting out to outline the shell. “He hasn’t shut up about it since we were seventeen. He really does love you, Kyle.” Then, their voice dropped into a rapacious, sharp whisper, as they said, making Kyle’s spine shiver, “He wants you so bad. Wants to fuck you.”

“Wendy,” Stan moaned, “Don’t.”

Kyle shuddered, shaking his head, letting Stan know through another look that _it’s okay. I want it too._ “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” gasped Stan.

They stayed that way for some time, moving against each other, sharing deep kisses and soft caresses and needy gropes. Wendy was the first to rise to unsteady feet, beckoning for the other two to follow them. And when they reached the bedroom, there was a flurry of clothing tossed around Stan and Wendy’s room and a collapse of the three into their unmade bed, through gasps and moans, and kisses, and laughter. Kyle was in the middle, Stan and Wendy  curled up on either side of him.

Stan alternated nips and kisses down his neck. “What do you want to do?”

“I’m flexible,” Kyle said. “Just… you. Both of you.”

It was as if the sheer intensity of the experience shocked Kyle back to sobriety, every sensation not dulled, but multiplied. While Wendy traveled down his body in a trail of kisses, pausing to swirl their tongue around each of his nipples, he gripped Stan’s hair with one hand, kissing him, never, _ever_ wanting to stop kissing him, and his other hand stroking his cock, firm and slow. Once Wendy took him into their mouth, Stan pulling away to watch, grinning silly, Kyle knew he’d remember this. He knew they all would.

From the other room, Wendy’s phone alarm sounded, causing all three to pause, and Wendy to pull themselves up from between Kyle’s thighs. “You guys! It’s midnight,” they said. “Happy new year.” They shared a kiss, first with Stan, and then with Kyle.

“Are we gonna regret all this in the morning?” Stan asked, before he gently pressed his lips against Kyle’s in their first kiss of the year.

“I don’t think so,” Kyle replied. “I don’t think so at _all.”_ Wendy just let out a snorting laugh, and shook their head.

Stan smiled. “I don’t either. Happy new year.”

Kyle kissed his forehead, then Wendy’s. “Happy new year. Let’s keep going.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....I have a thing for hair, I think. Kyle does, indeed, have gorgeous hair.


	9. day six - bondage (creek)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did you think I was starting to deviate from the Creek a little too much? Me too. Here's more Creek for your soul.
> 
> day whatever-the-actual-fuck because it is now december - bondage: aka, three developments in Tweek and Craig's relationship, and how they realized they might be a little bit kinky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTHING SEXUAL HAPPENS IN THE FIRST SCENE BECAUSE THEY'RE THIRTEEN and I'm not about to write that kind of thing, just in case you start reading this and have a knee-jerk reaction.

They were playing superheroes in Tweek's room on an August afternoon.

By some people's standards, thirteen was too old to play such games, but it didn't keep them from doing so. Although Craig was the most reluctant of their group to join in the original game, back when they were just kids, he was always the first to suggest it with Tweek. They'd ditched their costumes, but kept the personas of Super Craig: Man of Steel, now a superhero-turned-supervillain and his arch rival, Wonder Tweek: Champion of Justice. Both were well aware it was a thinly-veiled excuse to wrestle, which was an excuse to rub against each other and trade timid kisses, until one of them was nervous enough to stop the other. It was all just part of their game.

"Traitor!" Super Craig bellowed, shoving Wonder Tweek on the floor, against his footboard. He landed with a thud and an  _ow! Dude!_ , Craig towering over him. The sash from Mrs. Tweek's bathrobe, a robin's egg blue terrycloth, hung from the belt loop of his jeans. "You left Coon and Friends! And now you shall perish." He sunk to his knees, giving Wonder Tweek shove after shove.

 _"Agh! Jesus!_ That was -  _ack -_ a long time ago, Super Craig, I-"

"Long time ago or not, you  _betrayed me_." Super Craig barely fought back a grin as he threaded the sash from his jeans. "Payback's a bitch, Thunder Geek."

Wonder Tweek extended his hands straight in front of him. "Icicle Strike!" He shouted, only to be thwarted by the super strength of Super Craig, who twisted his arms behind his back.

"Not so fast!" Super Craig flung the sash around Wonder Tweek. "Gotcha now!"

Wonder Tweek laughed. "N-nope, too bad for Super Craig! Wonder Tweek, Champion of Justice, uses his LIGHTING POWER to sever through the bonds! Freeing himself from -  _agh -_ from the evil Super Craig's prison!" He screwed up his eyes in exaggerated concentration. "Here comes the SHOCK!"

"Nope." Craig glared at him. "You can't." He tied the bathrobe sash in an untidy knot in the middle of Tweek's back.

 _"What_ , ah, what do you mean I  _can't,_ man, what the fuck?"

"It's magical rope, you can't," repeated Craig in his signature, matter-of-fact monotone, which now boasted a slight lisp from his braces. "Everybody knows you can't use lighting power on magical rope."

Tweek shook his head, a little grunting noise coming from his lips, which were upturned in a small smile. "Dude! You can't just  _say_ it's magical rope!" The only form of resistance coming from Tweek were his arguments; his body had stopped squirming, and twitching, altogether.

"Yes I can," Craig droned, as he looped the sash around Tweek's front, tying another slipshod knot. "And lighting doesn't work on magical rope, so I win."

The glare Tweek shot him could have been made of real lightning. "Fine,  _Stupid Craig,_ you win. Cheater." He cleared his throat, projecting his voice to that of his hero's persona. "I have been defeated! But next time, Super Craig will not be so lucky!" He dramatically flopped onto his back, hands pinned between him and the floor.

Craig, as was their routine, climbed on top of Tweek, sitting on his thighs. "Yes I will," he said, moving his hands to Tweek's shoulders. As he pushed Tweek harder into the floor, Tweek's face was a burning red, the corners of his widening smile twitching. "Huh... Guess what, babe?"

"Y-yeah?" Tweek parted his lips, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled up at Craig.

"You're blushing." Craig kissed him, first a peck, and then, after a moment of silent deliberation, open-mouthed, for the very first time. It was wet, and sloppy,and, when Tweek scraped his tongue on Craig's braces and started freaking out about the amount of germs in the human mouth, Craig untied him, thus ending that day's game. They shuffled downstairs, where they played video games and watched Red Racer reruns into the early morning, and fell asleep on the couch, Tweek's head on one end, and Craig's on the other.

When the sunrise woke them after a fitful few hours of rest, after Tweek shoved Craig's foot away from his face with a disgruntled  _ew,_ after Craig rubbed the sleep from his eyes and realigned their bodies in a face-to-face cuddle, they tried kissing like that again. And again. And this time, Tweek didn't complain.

* * *

Their senior year of high school was nearing its end, and Tweek finally passed his driving test, on the fifth try.

He thought he _should_  have felt guilty for accepting the car; but, if anything, his guilt stemmed from the _lack_ of guilt he felt, and just how unabashedly  _happy_ he was. He knew it was bought with drug money, probably in cash, but he didn't care - it was  _his._ A couple years ago, he finally caught on to what his parents were doing to his coffee, not to mention what his father was selling on the side. After a tearful shouting match that ended with a promise to stop forcing the laced beverage on their only child lest he go to the police, and a reluctant compromise to get him a Ritalin prescription instead, he and his parents developed an unspoken understanding to stay out of each others' way as much as they can, save for the random gifts his mother and father have been wont to give him, lately, as if they think buying him a new keyboard, or the video game he mentioned in passing, or nice shoes can make up for years of fucked-up shit. The car, the beautiful, sleek black SUV with a sunroof and leather interior and a back-up camera and  _everything_ he ever could've wanted, felt like a final peace offering. Even if there were deeds that could never be undone, and wrongdoings he would never quite forgive, he accepted the gift.

After all, who could blame him? It was gorgeous. When he neared Craig's house, his boyfriend's shocked smile was visible from a half-block away as he waited upon the front step. He practically sprinted to the vehicle and jumped into the passenger side once Tweek pulled up to the walkway.

“Holy... wow.” Craig ran a hand along the side of the drivers seat, appreciatively taking in the soft, buttery upholstery before sliding into his boyfriend’s hair and pulling him in for a kiss. “Mmh. Hey babe,” he hummed after they parted. His eyes darted to the large sunroof. “Dude. Your _car._ I’m _so_ jealous. It smells so good, and these seats, just. Wow.”

Tweek raked his fingers through his unruly hair, laughing a little. “Right? Got you a Harbucks,” he gestured to the cup holders, where two iced lattes were waiting. “God, man, I totally thought I was gonna crash on the way because it’s my first time alone, and I was like _so_ freaked out when I went through the drive-through…” he leaned over and kissed Craig again, closed-mouthed but firm. “You’re here now. I feel better.”

They shared a smile, and another kiss before Tweek took a deep breath and put the car in drive. “What do you wanna do today, babe?” Craig took a sip of his coffee, still looking around the vehicle’s interior. “There’s a couple movies out, we could go to Denver to that theater with the recliners.”

“Honestly? Ah…” Tweek’s grip on the steering wheel was awkward and stiff as he cautiously darted his eyes toward Craig for a split second, then back onto the road. “Yeah. Yeah, Denver sounds nice. But...” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, chewing on his lip. "Um. I wanna….” he took a deep breath, and the next words out of his mouth came as one hurried mutter. “Wanna break in the car and I want you to bang me in the backseat.”

Craig nearly choked on his Harbucks. “In the middle of the day?” He quickly backed up. “Wait, no, I'd like to! I just. _Where?_ And do you have…. you know?”

“It's in the back,” Tweek squeaked out. It was unusual of him to be this nervous about sex - it wasn’t like it would be their first time, and they’d done it in Craig’s car before, but Craig chalked it up to jitters about driving. Tweek was always a road-rage fueled, anxious wreck behind the wheel, and Craig was already planning on asking if he could drive that beautiful car himself on their way home. “I’m gonna take us to the woods. Y’know. Past SoDoSoPa, there’s never anyone there but like. Homeless people nodding off so- _Fucker! Move your ass! -_ people, learn to drive, _gah!"_ He barely suppressed a full-body twitch. "Um. So. Nobody's going to really be there and... Yeah. Woods?”

As his answer, Craig reached over to grip the top of Tweek’s thigh, running his fingers over the place where it met hip - tempted as he was to just go straight for the goods, he didn’t want them to end up in a ditch. Tweek jumped a bit, and braced himself against the steering wheel. The surroundings of South Park whooshed by their window, and Craig realized they were almost there as Kenny’s house came into view. Craig kept his hand on Tweek until they parked in a clearing of pine trees, empty save for bits of garbage here and there, and what looked like a collapsed, long-abandoned tent. 

“Oh Tweek. You are _soooo_ romantic,” joked Craig, “What a _beautiful_ view. What did a guy like me ever do- oh. Whoa. _Hel-_ lo.” Tweek had cut off his sarcastic diatribe by a hand in Craig’s hair, and lips on his neck, kissing and lapping at Craig’s tanned skin as if he couldn’t get enough of it, barely giving Craig a chance to set down his latte and unbuckle his seat belt before their lips locked together in a blazing, open kiss. It didn't take long at all for their shirts to be tossed in the back, and for Tweek to end up in the passenger seat, careful to avoid knocking into their drinks as he hoisted himself onto Craig's lap in a straddle. They moaned into each other's mouths when their bare chests pressed flush against one another, Craig raking his nails along Tweek's back, and Tweek gripping Craig's hair, his mouth on Craig's neck, and collarbones, and chest in crushing, sucking kisses.

Craig dug his fingers into Tweek's hips, rocking him, eliciting an immodest, loud moan when their lengths clashed against one another through their jeans. “Backseat, now.” His voice was the kind of subdued growl that always made Tweek feel shaky, and hot, and full of nothing but  _need._ Scrambling into the backseat was an awkward effort, a tangle of lanky limbs and sharp elbows in unpleasant places, and Tweek screeching about not spilling the coffee in his new car, but once they were there, Craig pressed between the leather upholstery and Tweek, on top of him, and there was hoisting of hips and frantic removal of both their jeans, which were inelegantly tossed onto the floorboards in a heap. And, while Craig grasped the slight curve of Tweek's ass, and their hips bucked against each other, it was as breathtaking, and beautiful, and  _meant to be_ as it always was.

"Wait," Tweek gasped after pulling his mouth off Craig's earlobe with a wet sucking sound. His eyes were focused on the pile of their clothing, and his tongue darted out to moisten his lips. “You're wearing that belt. The one with the holes.”

Craig glanced up at him quizzically. "I guess. So?"

“So... I wanna try something.” He was shaking, his voice wavering, and he extended his jittery hands to pick up Craig's discarded jeans, and slide the belt from their loops. "Um. Here?"

Craig took it from him, alternating his eyes from Tweek, who was looking down at him apprehensively, as if he was waiting for something, to the belt in question. It was an army-green canvas belt, metal grommets spaced in equal distances from buckle to end, something he only wore when he was bumming around. He didn't even  _like_ that belt, he only owned it because it came attached to a pair of shorts he bought, and Tweek wanted him to...  _What?_   "Uh. I'm not gonna spank you, babe," said Craig stupidly, "At least not with  _this,_ it's-"

Tweek huffed. "I don't want that! Um." He opened and closed his mouth a few times, until, with a decisive tut, he crossed his hands behind his back, nodding slightly behind his shoulder. _"Tie_ _me up,_ "he hissed. "It'll,  _gah._ It'll be easy with that belt, you just... tighten it around my wrists, and." He swallowed. "Tie me up, and fuck me?"

And, Craig would be damned if that wasn't, somehow, for  _whatever_ reason, the hottest thing he'd ever heard, or seen, or, fuck, even thought about. _"O_ _h._  Oh  _god."_ Craig couldn't help the faint moan that escaped his lips, nor the rough jolt of arousal that started in his gut and moved down, stretching across the tops of his thighs, making his cock strain harder against his boxers. "Uh, yeah. Okay. Yeah, let's do that," he stammered. Tweek, leaving his hands behind his back, leaned forward to kiss him, his tongue darting out in a tentative manner to sweep across Craig's lower lip. Craig deepened the kiss, capturing Tweek's lower lip between his teeth, drawing out a gasp from the other boy that turned into a full on, feverish moan when he circled his hand around Tweek's back to grasp his thin wrists.

“You like that, honey?" His other hand was still holding the belt; he was beginning to form an idea of what he wanted to do next. Tweek shivered over him, nodding and moaning against his shoulder. "Is this why you were so nervous earlier?” Craig asked. Tweek shrugged. "When you picked me up, you seemed nervous, were you... is that why?"

His lips were turned in a small, shy grin, but his vibrant, green eyes were clouded over, unfocused in their arousal. “I... Yeah? I mean, I like it when you hold me down, and you like it too? I think? I hope?" He looked at Craig, expectantly, and received a nod. "So, I like wanted to try this but, man, I don’t know, I'm... y-yeah. Nervous?” His voice cracked, and he emitted a short, barking laugh. “Not about  _doing_ it! I've thought about asking you for... _agh._ I'm just nervous 'cause I thought you’d think, I dunno... that I was weird or something,” he added, softer, glancing at the floorboards instead of meeting Craig’s eyes.

Craig's hand was gentle as he lifted Tweek's chin, bringing their gazes together. “You're super weird, babe... but guess what?"

Tweek screwed up his eyebrows. “Hm?”

“I fucking  _love_ it.” He pressed their lips together, briefly. “I’m weird too,” Craig continued in a throaty murmur in between sucking at Tweek’s neck. "I want to try it, it makes me, um. Makes me feel...  _Fuck._ " Rather than try and find the words, he moved his hips upward in a forceful thrust, met in turn by Tweek. He  _had_ to fuck him, wanted so badly to try what Tweek suggested - and Tweek, as he frequently did, seemed to read his mind when he kissed him, and whispered, _please._

"Turn around. Hands and knees," Craig said, and, even though it was a large backseat, far less cramped than their encounters in the back of Craig's secondhand Jetta, it took a bit of clumsy maneuvering for Tweek to end up face down, knees bent and ass in the air, his cheek pressed against the seat - but, somehow, he managed to leave his arms behind him the whole time.

"Lube's in the driver's seat pocket. Towel in the back," Tweek murmured, before screwing up his eyes and taking another shuddering, deep breath. " _Hngh,_ tie me up already, Craig, _Jesus._ " Between how casually he'd tossed out putting the necessary items in his car, and the urgency in his voice, and the glazed-over contentment and need of his expression, Craig knew that Tweek had planned this, and the thought of him doing so caused another intense surge of arousal throughout Craig's entire body.

It was easy, Tweek was correct, to tie him up as he'd asked - Craig looped the belt around Tweek's pressed-together wrists, eliciting several sharp breaths from the trembling blond as he tightened it as far as it could go, making sure to leave about a finger's worth of wiggle room, and fastened the buckle. He threaded the end of the belt once through the loop, and when he twisted his hand around the end and lightly pulled _,_ Tweek responded with a mewl that was like an arrow of lust straight to Craig's cock.

" _Fuck_ _,_ ” he moaned. Craig’s eyes scanned every inch of Tweek's back as he stroked his hand through his hair, then down his spine, taking in the freckles on his shoulders, the cluster of moles on his lower back that always reminded him of a constellation, the dimples above his ass, the way he'd seemed to relax, to melt into the seat beneath him save for tiny shivers when Craig touched him.  _Beautiful_ , was all Craig could think. He was beautiful, and he was  _his,_ and Craig wanted to give him anything, everything he wanted. “It’d be pretty easy to tie you to something with that. If we weren’t in your car, I could. Would you like that?” Tweek's hips bucked against the air, and, while Craig knew that was Tweek's way of responding  _yes, absolutely,_ he still wanted to hear him say it, to plead and confess and tell him  _everything._

 _“Craig,”_ Tweek moaned, "Please touch me." Craig complied, fishing the bottle of lube from the back of the driver's seat and applying a squeeze to the palm of his hand, which he wrapped around his boyfriend's waiting, straining erection, and another, larger, squirt of the liquid directly onto the crack of his ass.  _When did we take our underwear off?_ he thought, quickly deciding it wasn't important the moment he slid his own hardness between his boyfriend's spread cheeks. Tweek rocked back against him, and into his hand, gasping when Craig matched his thrusts with the hand wrapped tightly around his cock.

“Would you _like_ that? If I tied you to the bed? Or... wherever?” He gave the free end of the belt another tug as he licked up Tweek's shivering spine, starting between the shoulders, feeling the curve of each vertebrae on his tongue. "You want it? Want me to tie you up more? _I_ want to." He let out a low, guttural moan, joined in tandem by Tweek's own, before relinquishing his grip on the makeshift restraints, and, instead, burying his hand in Tweek's unkempt hair. He pulled Tweek's head back, gently, and sucked on his earlobe while drawing back his hips to replace cock with fingers, pressing against Tweek's slicked hole in firm, deliberate circles, relaxing him, before sinking in first one finger, then shortly after, another. "Would you trust me with that, baby?"

Tweek's upper body had gone nearly slack against the seat while his back arched into Craig's fingers, pressing so they hit his prostate exactly how he needed. "I trust you," he whispered, and that seemed to make him break, a frustrated, wanting wail of a moan escaping his lips, before he continued to speak, voice still breathy and soft, not matching the volume of his cry. "I _trust_ you. With everything. I want you, Craig, I... _god_ _."_

"Everything," Craig repeated in a satisfied sigh.  _"Tweek._ " He tried to put every meaning he could into his utterance of his boyfriend's name -  _I love you, I want you, I trust you too._

After awhile, he knew Tweek was more than ready; he'd began grinding his ass into Craig's knuckle-deep fingers, and his breathing was oddly calm, his chest and back expanding with each deep, rhythmic inhale. "Can I fuck you like this? Please?" Craig hadn't meant to sound so desperate, but that was how his voice came out - obvious that he needed whatever it was they were doing just as much as Tweek. 

Tweek's head twisted to the side, mouth pressed against his shoulder, his tongue reflexively darting out to lick the sweat off his own collarbone, like he needed something to ground him or help him to concentrate or just needed something in his  _mouth_ , and, he locked the corners of his dazed, needy, pleading eyes with Craig's own. When he choked out, "Fuck me" in the same small, faraway whisper, Craig extracted his fingers and lined up his erection almost quicker than he himself could process, and sunk in, carefully engulfing himself to the hilt. Tweek was quieter than usual, save for a few sharp intakes of air through his nose when Craig entered him. His wrists writhed against each other, against the bonds, and the fingers of his uppermost hand twitched behind his back, reaching out for Craig's own. With one hand intertwined in Tweek's, the canvas and metal of his belt between their palms, and the other still stroking his cock, they stayed that way for a bit, Craig gritting his teeth in an attempt to not blow his load right away as he wanted to, from the sheer intensity of the experience and from seeing Tweek like this, so blissed-out and gorgeous - that is, until Tweek choked out a small  _c'mon_ , and Craig added another quick drizzle of lube to where they connected, took Tweek's hand again, and began to move.

Despite Tweek's hands being tied behind his back, despite the roughness with which Craig grabbed his hair, bit his shoulder, and sunk his fingers into the divot of his hipbone, his thrusts were more of a deep, heaving writhe, a circle of hips, a slow rocking motion. Tweek shuddered beneath him and continued to move against Craig in the same slow motion as before, gasping and hissing each time the head of Craig's dick hit his prostate. The car was stuffy and warm, and beads of sweat were dripping from Craig's hair, his bangs flattened against his forehead. A swirling, throbbing heat was beginning to form in the base of his abdomen, a tightness threatening to break open. "You like it, babe?" he asked with a lick on the back of Tweek's neck, and what Tweek said next, entirely unexpected, but somehow so  _right_ and sexy and wonderful, was what brought him over the edge.

"Yes, sir."

"Ohholy _shit,_ "  Craig gasped, and picked up his pace, slamming into him in quick, hard thrusts, hand tightening in the base of Tweek's hair to pull his head back, and nip his neck, and moan into his ear. 

He came with a yank of the belt's end and a deep, growling groan, upon Tweek's lower back, and the crack of his ass - as much as he wanted to unload inside of him, they did have a date planned, after all - and it was the near moment that Tweek felt the warm wetness of Craig's orgasm splash onto him that Tweek followed, his cock pulsing in Craig's hand, spilling himself shamelessly onto the leather seat of his brand new car. "Oh, fuck, _Craig,_ " Tweek whispered, his body wracked with twitching shivers. After a few moments of Craig stroking his hair and kissing his neck, he undid the belt around Tweek's wrists, which were marked with small, circular indents where the backs of the belt's grommets pressed into his flesh.

Tweek wiggled his fingers before returning his arms to his sides. "Towel," he muttered.

Craig's arms were long enough that he didn't have to try terribly hard to reach into the hatch of the truck and find the towel Tweek set aside. "How are you feeling?" He asked while cleaning himself off of Tweek in gentle presses. "You okay?"

"Yeah." Tweek sat upright once Craig was finished, and scooted both of them aside as to clean up his own mess with the towel. His face was more relaxed than Craig had seen it in a long time. "I feel like I'm floating," Tweek said, slowly. "I feel like I'm safe, and calm. It's..." he buried his face in Craig's shoulder, and wrapped his arms snug around his waist. "It's amazing. You're amazing."

" _You're_ amazing." Craig knew precisely what Tweek meant, because he felt it, too.

The backseat no longer seemed as spacious as it initially did; there was something different in the air, heavy with not just lust and their afterglow, but love, and trust, and need, and _forever_ that made them feel enclosed - not trapped or claustrophobic, but cozy. Things between them changed, in that very moment, as if what just happened caused a shift, a breakthrough, like something had burst into bloom. Craig's heart pounded against his chest as he wiped the sweat from his forehead, took one of Tweek's hands in his to kiss the marks upon his wrists, and murmured, "I love you."

Tweek's head moved in a jumpy tic, shoulders tensing to meet his ears.  _"What?_ Did you... you _what?"_

"I love you," Craig repeated, firm and certain. He continued; he interrupted Tweek's stammering start of a sentence, knowing what the spent, now-shaky boy was going to say. "Yes, I'm sure. I love you. A lot, I  _love-"_

Tweek kissed him again. It was slow, and tender, and as Tweek pulled away, he sighed against Craig's mouth his first reply of "I love you too."

After they made certain the seats were clean, searched the car for their discarded clothing, and dressed, Craig drove them to Denver, clutching Tweek's hand the entire way. During the movie, they adjusted the armrest in the middle of them upwards, and watched while cuddled against one another. Craig grasped Tweek's wrist in his hand and stroked his thumb up and down his palm, and Tweek, every so often, would graze his fingers across Craig's waistband, feeling the smooth metal grommets of his belt.

* * *

They scored an apartment in uptown Denver. They were armed with bachelor's degrees - physics in Craig's case, sociology in Tweek's, buried in student loan debt, and cursed with conflicting work schedules... but still together, and still utterly, hopelessly in love, and ready to face the rest of their future together.  However, their apartment was, to put it nicely, a total dump. At the very least, their landlord had been kind enough to allow them to repaint, which is how they ended up in the Home Depot on a rare, shared Saturday off, agonizing over colors for their bedroom.

"I can't pick a color!" Tweek lamented. "Why are there so many greens? Jesus. There's too many  _options!"_ He considered his fistfuls of paint swatches with a wide-eyed grimace. "Craig!"

His boyfriend was mulling over some eggshell beiges, pursing his lips. "What."

"The greens, man, the _greens,_ " Tweek repeated, sounding quite frustrated. "I can't pick! Garden Cucumber, or Egyptian Nile, or..." His grip on the paint swatches was leaving little indentations in the paper. "Or, ngh,  _Mountain Pine!?_ They're all the fucking same!"

Craig gently snatched the color samples from Tweek, with a small smile. "Want me to pick from those three?" Tweek nodded. "Okay. Go look around, I'll find you in a little bit." After a few minutes of deliberation, Craig settled on Mountain Pine, as well as a typical off-white he knew Tweek would claim to hate. As he waited for the paint to finish mixing, leaning up against the counter and playing on his phone, he received a text from Tweek that said,  _Asihe 15_ , followed quickly by another one reading  _Aisle*._

Paint cans loaded into his cart, he made his way across the seemingly endless store. It was weird, he thought as he located aisle fifteen, that in a store so large, there seemed to be barely any other people doing their shopping, and, other than the girl who mixed his paint and the cashiers at the registers where they'd entered, he'd yet to see another associate. He reached aisle fifteen after a while, and let out a chuckle when he saw the sign -  _15: Lubricants, Ropes & Chains, Screws, Tie-Downs. _

 _Of fucking course. He would_ , thought Craig.

Tweek was positioned by several spools of rope and chain about halfway down the aisle. He seemed to be mulling over two different types of rope, the length of each in his hands. "H-hey, Craig!"

Craig shot him a glare. "We came here for paint."

"But _sir_ _,_ _"_ he purred, softly, after looking around to make sure nobody was listening, knowing exactly what he was doing, and how he was making Craig feel.

"Nope. We don't need any," Craig said dismissively, attempting to hide his piqued interested. "We have way better shit at home. For um. For our  _emergency kit,"_ he carefully enunciated, signaling Tweek to cut it out in public, before he embarrassed them, or, worse, Craig ravished him right then and there in the tie-down aisle of a home improvement store.

Tweek cocked his head to the side, and Craig could have sworn that the little _tease_ batted his eyes at him. "Well,  _I_ think it'd be nice to have, ah, a back-up. You know... different types for different  _emergencies,"_ he said. "Nylon?" He wrapped the shinier of the two ropes around his wrist, extending it as if he were modeling. A huge grin, cheeky and sarcastic in its faux-innocence, stretched across his face.  "Or cotton?" He repeated the action with the second rope. "What do you think...  _sir?"_

Craig swallowed a moan. "Um. Nylon, but not that one. Twisted. We, um..." He was trying to keep his voice down, and stepped closer to Tweek. "We don't want cotton from here, it's too stretchy."

Tweek's fingers ghosted on the back of Craig's neck, as he craned his neck up to whisper in his ear, "Good call on twisted. It leaves cool marks." 

Unable to help himself, Craig placed a hand on Tweek's lower back, pulling him close into what looked like a hug to outsiders, but, to them, was a warning, of the best kind. "You're such a fucking brat, Tweek," he said against Tweek's ear in a deep murmur. "You're gonna pay for this."

"Promise?" Tweek asked, and kissed Craig deeply, right there in the aisle. Despite his embarrassment, Craig kissed him back, his hands twisting in the back hem of Tweek's shirt. They were interrupted by a jingling of keys, and a clear of somebody's throat.

"Hello welcome to Home Depot. Can I like. Help you?" The miserable-sounding, nametag-free salesperson looked entirely out-of-place in his orange vest which was tossed over black skinny pants, a matching black shirt, and tall, wing-tip creepers. His fading, dyed black hair flopped over half his face in a swoop, and what looked to be last night's eyeliner was smeared beneath his eyes, like he'd tried, and failed, to remove it with nothing but water and a paper towel in the employee bathroom. He arched an eyebrow at the two men, who quickly jumped apart. "You guys want some  _rope?"_ He asked, deliberately popping the 'p' sound on  _rope_ as he shot a knowing glare at Tweek and Craig.

"Yep," Tweek answered, making the same 'p' sound with his lips. Craig felt like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. He focused his gaze at the concrete beneath their feet as Tweek instructed the attendant on how much to cut, and loaded it into their cart.

During their exchange, a cordless phone clipped to the employee's pants began ringing, and he eyed it like it was a bomb about to go off before answering, joylessly, "Hello, Home Depot, can you please hold." He sighed, flipping his hair from his face. After he finished helping the couple, he intoned, deadpan, "Have a great day and thank you for choosing Home Depot for all of your bondage needs." With a twitch of his lips into an almost-smile, the associate sauntered away. "Thank you for calling Home Depot how may I help you."

Craig remained red-faced and silent throughout the rest of their shopping trip, and Tweek had to pretend that he wasn't going to burst out laughing from the entire experience. As nerve-wracking as he would have once found it, he now thought it was hilarious, and wonderful, because seeing Craig like that, all flustered and angry and, despite all his best efforts,  _turned-on,_  was completely worth it.

"Hey, hold on... Don't you think that guy looked familiar?" asked Craig, as they exited through the automatic doors to the parking lot.

"I, ah, I dunno, maybe a little. Nice of him to cut different lengths right there for us, though," replied Tweek.

"You're in a lot of trouble, you know that, right?"

As Tweek clicked the unlock button on the remote for his SUV, he caught Craig's eyes with his own, and they shared a knowing smile. Maybe, like old times, they didn't have to wait to get home in order to have a little fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Home Depot aka KINK DEPOT. Obviously I can't help it with inserting Goth Kids in every fic possible. I love them. If you're wondering why Pete works there, it's because he's in school and doesn't really give a crap what he does for a part time job, as long as he gets a paycheck. I've never been to a Home Depot, tbh, because I live in the land of Menards.
> 
> I'm not really sure what I think of this piece as a whole, but, it's done and posted, and that's all I wanted from it.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and stay tuned for the next installments due, uh, whenever the fuck, depending on how much my job exhausts me over the next few weeks. Coming soon? will be a Mysterion/Chaos story that probably nobody should read because it's complete and utter (consensual!) violent filth, and some Bendy, because there aren't enough ladies up in this fic rn.


	10. day eighteen - masturbation (creek)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tweek is a horny little bastard. He calls Craig out on some stuff that’s been bugging him, at the wrong time. They bicker like the old married couple they are. Sex-things ensue. 
> 
> Established relationship Creek, mutual/guided masturbation, top!Tweek, and bottom!Craig, which are probably my favorite things to write when it comes to smut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so long, and probably THE dirtiest thing I've ever written, in terms of detail. Utter filth. Enjoy.

It was, as always, Tweek’s idea.

Considering that Tweek’s ideas were usually adventurous and shamelessly wicked, Craig was a bit taken aback, suspicious even, when, on a Friday night while they were watching television, Tweek told him, “I wanna try something tonight, okay?” in that lilting, inquisitive voice he reserved only for their many bedroom experimentations, and that ‘something’ turned out to be watching Craig jerk off.

“Really? That’s it?” He’d asked.

Tweek had kissed him on the cheek, said, “Yep. That’s it,” and turned back to the show they were binge watching that evening. The rest of their night in was relatively normal, boring even, with Chinese delivery and laughing at the TV program, and sharing stories about their week at their respective jobs. Later on, after they’d showered and  brushed their teeth, and fed the pets, and after Tweek programmed the coffee maker for nine a.m. the next morning and made doubly sure the deadbolt and the door lock and the chain lock were all secure, they made their way to bed. Both in nothing but their underwear, Craig lay back with his head upon the pillow, and Tweek sat an arm’s length away from him, peering expectantly at his half-naked form, his eyes piercing and desirous, making Craig feel like he was being put on the spot.

“O...kay. So.” Craig glanced at Tweek, then around the room, as if looking for answers. “Should I, uh.” He tilted his chin down, slightly, to his lower half. He was wearing solid blue boxer briefs that were a little baggy around his skinny thighs, and wasn’t yet aroused - he knew what Tweek wanted, but was unsure how to proceed. Loathe as he was to admit it, this whole thing - the attention, feeling so exposed, the lack of direction - made him a bit nervous. “What do I do here?”

“Just do what you’d do if you were alone,” Tweek tossed out. His eyes scanned over Craig’s body with an appreciative arch of his brow.

Craig’s laugh was a small huff, through his nose. “Watch porn with my headphones in and be done with it in five minutes? All right. Because that’s _so_ sexy,” he drawled sarcastically.

The corner of Tweek’s mouth twitched into a mischievous half-smile. “ _Hng,_ heh. Porn. You could.” He tilted his head to the side. “ _We_ could? Is, ah, isn’t it weird that we’ve never done that together?”

“What. Watched porn?”

“Well, yeah. Or just jerked off for each other?” said Tweek simply, with no trace of hesitation or apprehension, “Isn’t it supposed to be some kinda - _agh -_  rite of passage that you’re supposed to jerk off with another guy while you’re watching porn, like, ‘no homo,’ or something?”

His use of the phrase caused a short, barking laugh to come from Craig’s lips. “‘No homo.’ _Really_ , Tweek? We’ve been out since we were _ten;_ I don’t think ‘no homo’ has ever applied to us.”

Tweek huffed. “You know what I _mean,_ Jesus! It’s like we skipped over some vital step in the _process_ and…” he tugged at a lock of his hair. “Like. We went straight for. Yknow. _It_ when we were in high school and…” he laughed a little. “I’m over...ah, overthinking it. Again, aren’t I?”

“I’d say,” replied Craig. Although his voice was flat, his small smile betrayed his real feelings. It was exactly like Tweek to over-analyze everything; and, while that trait of his boyfriend brought him endless frustration, he also loved it, because, whenever Tweek would start with his convoluted theories, or jump through disconnected hoops to get to his conclusions, it made _Craig_ think, too. Taking things at face value and relying on logic and facts had always been Craig’s method of thinking, but he was continually shown by Tweek that his approach wasn’t the only way.

When Tweek shot back a crooked smile of his own, a tiny nod and a cock of his eyebrow, Craig dragged his slender, long hand up his own thigh, settling on his underwear-clad hipbone in splayed fingers. He already felt ridiculous and he hadn’t even begun to touch himself yet, but he cleared his throat and said, in what he hoped was a sultry, seductive voice, but came out shaky, gravely, and unsure. “If you want a show, just say so.” He still had no idea what he was supposed to do, which was evident when Tweek’s eyes gave a small roll.

“Like you even _would_ , Craig.”

“What.” He let his hand drop to his side.

“Like you’d even be able to, without me telling you how to do it,” Tweek said. His phrasing bore no trace of seduction or teasing; rather, he’d uttered those words like it was a simple fact.

Something about that stung Craig. Even if it wasn’t Tweek’s intention, and even if he was one hundred percent correct, those words were still like a light slap directly to the ego, and Craig’s eyes narrowed as he shifted to sit up, mirroring Tweek’s position by crossing his legs. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I _mean,_ ” Tweek cleared his throat, a tiny twitch wracking his shoulders. “I mean that you can sometimes be so, ah…” He pursed his lips, eyes glancing at the ceiling as he tired to find the right words. Once he did, they began tumbling out of his mouth at a mile a minute “Okay, it’s not that I’m unsatisfied because I’m _totally not,_ you’re always up for everything I, um, I talk about? Or, I dunno, initiate at least, and everything is always, _hah_ , hot as fuck and you’re s-so amazing and sexy, but.” He paused to chew on his lower lip a little bit. “But when it comes down to it, you’re a little… you can be sort of inhibited,” he finished. The small shrug, the way his eyes softened, and brows knit together worriedly made it evident that he didn’t intend any offense by the statement, but Craig still emitted an affronted scoff.

“Inhibited?” Craig’s fingers were threaded together in a tight hold; he rested his angular jaw upon them. He glared at his boyfriend. “I let you talk me into getting fucked by you in a _parking garage_ last week, Christ, Tweek.” His chin dug into his fingers as he shook his head, and chuckled in disbelief. “Some old, fat security guard is probably jacking it, right  now, to camera footage of us, and I’m _inhibited.”_

“I told you there weren’t any cameras, I checked!” Tweek snapped. “I, ah, I told you like a million times there weren’t any cameras and you still-”

“You’ve got me sending you dick pics from my _office!_ Inhibited,” Craig repeated, again, with another shake of his head. “Unbelievable,” he muttered.

Tweek sighed. “Maybe that wasn’t the best word choice, but-”

Craig interrupted him with a sharp, frustrated exhale through his nose and threw his hands up into the air in frustration. “I am _not_ inhibited. You’re just a fucking nympho.” He sat up straighter, his arms crossing over his bare chest. “And it’s still so weird that you are, _considering._ You think everyone's out to get you and you’re always freaking out about nothing, but then you’ll fuck me in pubic like it’s not even a big deal? _”_

It was Tweek’s turn to scoff - his was more of a squeaky, irritated grunt, embedded with the smallest hint of hurt and sadness. “D-don’t you dare bring my mental health or personality into this, _Craig,_ because you know damn well that sex is _different_.”

Craig opened and closed his mouth, immediately regretting what he’d said. “I…” He flopped back onto the pillow, his hand reflexively reaching out for Tweek’s own. “Shit, I didn’t mean it that way, babe. You know that.”

Tweek snatched his hand away. “Do I know that?”

“Tweek…” Craig rolled onto his side, trying to catch his boyfriend’s eyes, but Tweek had already shifted himself away, his glance cast toward the wall and off of Craig.

“You weren’t listening to me,” he said, “You kept-”

“I didn’t _mean_ it that way,” Craig repeated with a sigh.

“Kept _interrupting_ and there you go, again. I am removing myself from the situation,” he said cool and practiced, as he rose from the bed, jaw set and posture purposefully straight, although his shaking hands and the way his upper lip curled and quivered just a little bit gave away the fact that he was upset. Tweek had learned, over the years, to control his tics and reign in his anxiety, to a point at least, but it would never be perfect; there would always be twitches and shakes, and automatic reactions of panic. He would always stammer when he was upset. “I-I’ll be downstairs. _Gah!_ Gaming.” Tweek grabbed the fleece throw off of their bed, and wrapped it around his bare shoulders like a cape. He looked ridiculous even in all his obvious frustration and anger, like a child dressing up as a king, the throw dragging on the ground behind him while he left the room. “And!” He stopped in the doorway, glaring at Craig over his shoulder. “Sex is - _ack_ \- it’s obviously different for you, too, if we’re talking personalities. T-think about _that_ , Craig.” He snatched his phone off the dresser, and left the door open as he stiffly walked out, the padding of his heavy, irritated footfall echoing down the hallway, the stairs creaking underneath him as he made his way back to the living room.

All Craig did was lay in their bed, brow knit in confusion, and listen to him leave.

“What the hell?” Craig muttered to himself once he heard the television start up, and the tinny, distant sound of video game gunfire hit his ears. Tweek loved shooting people in Call of Duty when he was upset, and, despite their small tiff, despite feeling both insulted and like he’d done something wrong, too, Craig couldn’t help the beginnings of a warm half-smile that flitted across his face at the thought of his boyfriend taking his anger out on CGI Nazis, just like when they were kids. However, the feeling of nostalgic happiness didn’t last too long, as he turned the words of their arguments over and over in his brain. “Inhibited. Whatever,” he grumbled again, with a heavy exhale and a shake of his head, and got under the covers.

 _Like you’d even be able to, without me telling you how to do it._ Tweek’s statement, the matter-of-fact way he’d said it, echoed through Craig’s mind. He wasn’t even really sure why he’d gotten upset. It wasn’t like Tweek was _wrong._ From the very beginning, when they’d first kissed at age twelve while they were watching Red Racer reruns in Craig’s basement, to their first time in Tweek’s bed at sixteen, to last week in the parking garage, Craig approached their sex life with a sense of tentative caution. It wasn’t that he didn’t want it, because, oh, did he _ever;_ but, looking back, he supposed that it was originally because he didn’t want to hurt, or upset, his anxious boyfriend by being too forward. So, Tweek had always taken the lead. Craig shifted under the covers to get comfortable, and picked up his phone, scrolling through the news app on his phone without really reading any of the articles about the ongoing US-Canada War, or the state of the internet, or their current shitty president who wasn’t quite as bad as Garrison, but came close - articles he knew would upset his boyfriend. All the while, his mind was on Tweek.

 _Sex is different._ Craig sighed. Tweek didn’t _need_ caution, and he never had. There was no such thing as too forward when it came to sex with him, and Craig already _knew_ that, had for a while. So why did he still feel so reserved at times? _It’s different for you, too, if we’re talking personality_ . Tweek had a way of phrasing things that never made sense until well after the conversation was over, and, as Craig’s thumb pressed a fluff article - _You Won’t Believe These Fifteen Amazing Celebrity Transformations! -_ it clicked. Sex _was_ different for him than his normal self; he _was_ inhibited, and Tweek was right about everything. But, Craig realized, on his end, it was all on purpose, all to stir up something aggressive, and dominant, and sure in his nervous wreck of a partner, something that Tweek needed as much as he did, and -

“God damn it.” Craig let out a low, frustrated sigh, and let his phone fall against his chest. He liked it. _Loved_ it. He wanted to be given direction, wanted to be told what to do, wanted his logical, no-nonsense, collected, sarcastic asshole of a self to _fall apart_ , to lose the carefully-mastered self control that he carried with him every day. He wanted Tweek to be the one to do it. He wanted -

 _...me telling you how to do it._ Tweek’s voice sounded in his head again. It hadn’t been meant maliciously. It hadn’t been a criticism, or a judgment. Rather, it had been a _challenge_.

 _Shit. I’m an idiot,_ thought Craig. The sudden realization caused him to clutch the comforter atop him in his fist, caused something in his chest to ache, and a shock of unexpectedly intense arousal straight to his dick _._ “Oh, fuck.” Craig found a growling huff of a moan escaping his lips. He heard Tweek talking into his gaming headset downstairs, laughter and small shouts as he annihilated his opposition. _Way to go. Too late now._ Tweek was downstairs, Tweek was _mad_ at him, all because Craig didn’t pick up on something that should have been incredibly obvious. Sighing, he lifted up his hips, slid off his boxers, and picked up his phone again, figuring he might as well take care of it and pass out before Tweek came back.

The video was one of his go-to’s. A lanky brunette man, smatterings of body hair on his chest and lower stomach, freckles on his shoulders and full, pink lips lay face-down on the bed, head turned to the side and eyes looking desperately at the man above him. His arms were secured behind his back in a complicated-looking rope tie, his ass in the air, being spanked until it was an angry red by a nondescript, also brunette guy in a black t-shirt. He didn’t use headphones, couldn’t be bothered to get out of bed to fetch them. Instead, he turned the volume up as high as it could go, the shaking, desperate, probably quite staged, but still incredibly hot moans of the bottom piercing the silence of he and Tweek’s bedroom.

Craig watched with the blanket bunched into his hand and his lower lip clamped between his teeth. He didn’t lay a hand on his aching arousal as he watched the man on top sink his heavy, large cock into the other man’s waiting, tight hole, his hand roughly jerking back the bottom’s hair as he slammed into him. He barely realized that, after a while, he’d shut his eyes, and he was simply listening to the slapping, squelching noises, the swearing and screaming and dirty talk coming from his phone speaker, as he used his imagination. Tweek, on him. Tweek, biting and licking his neck, saying those same filthy, degrading things the top in the video was uttering, right in his ear, hand in his hair. Tweek, making him do anything he wanted. Tweek, who was downstairs, and upset with him. His cock twitched against his belly, a drip of precome oozing from the tip, sticking to the soft material of his blanket. _Tweek._ He moaned, animalistically, shamelessly loud as his hips jerked upward of their own accord.

“Damn it,” he whispered to himself once more, as he snapped his eyes open, pressed the home button on his phone, and brought up his text conversation with Tweek. He took note that all the video game noises had ceased from downstairs, the only sound reaching his ears that of the ice maker in their kitchen as Tweek poured himself a glass of water.

 _Honey, come back,_ he typed out, and pressed send.

Almost immediately, Tweek replied. _u done being a dick_

Craig smiled to himself. _Yes. Are you?_

 _Yea  
_ _Sry I got upset_

 _Dont apologize for that. I’m the one who should be sorry_  
_I love that you’re a nympho btw  
Come back and I’ll show you how much I love it_

It was barely a wait before Tweek’s footsteps sounded again, coming up the stairs quickly, almost in a jog. When he appeared in the doorway, he was still in his underwear, but the throw must’ve been left downstairs. Instead, he wore the too-big, black zip-up of Craig’s that had been hanging on the hooks by their door, open and exposing his body, which Craig scanned in obvious appreciation.

“Hey,” said Craig lightly from the bed, shooting an apologetic smile toward his boyfriend.

Tweek smiled back. “Hey. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” replied Craig with a wave of his hand. “Me too. Kill anyone?”

Tweek’s nose scrunched up, and he let out a chuckle as he sauntered across the room in the longest strides his short legs could take, and perched himself upon the bed once more, in the same place he was before their stupid argument. “Yeah. Token was on, too, so we played together. Some twelve-year-old called me the n-word,” he giggled, “So of course we fuckin’ got him.”

Craig laughed with him, and this time, Tweek allowed him to squeeze his hand, even threaded their fingers together. “What were you doing when I was down there, huh?” Tweek asked.

Craig felt his face go red. “Just thinking. Read the news. Um. Watched some stuff.”

Tweek smirked. “Watched some stuff,” he repeated. “What stuff?”

“What do you think,” Craig shot back.

“Show me.” Tweek rose up from the bed for a moment, only to lift up his side of the blanket, and crawl under it with Craig. “I wanna see.”

Craig picked up his phone, but paused before he could open anything. He leaned over, pressed his lips to Tweek’s cheek in a sweet peck of a kiss, and said, “Hold on. I wanna say something first.”

Tweek kissed his forehead back. “Okay. What’s up?”

“You were right, about all of it. Sex _is_ different, and I don’t care that you’re adventurous. I _love_ it, and… And maybe,” Craig took a breath, and licked his lips. “Maybe I _like_ when you tell me how to do stuff, or what to do. Ever think about that?” His voice was soft, honest, and a little breathy with arousal. “Maybe I _am_ a little inhibited - or, at least, less bold than you are. But, babe, isn’t it obvious that I love when you break those inhibitions down?”

Tweek’s response was a press of lips to Craig’s own, his tongue lapping at Craig’s lower lip, and hand twisting into his hair as their mouths crashed together, desperate and deep. “I heard you,” he said thickly, after they pulled away from each other with a mutual gasp. “That, ah, y-you… you moaned. And you sounded really sexy, and I was gonna come up anyway. What were you watching?” Tweek asked, nodding at Craig’s phone.

“Um.” Craig swallowed. “Some guy getting tied up, and, y’know. Fucked.”

“Yeah?” Tweek whispered. His eyes flashed, savage and intense, and he licked his lips. “Fucked hard?”

“Yeah,” gasped Craig, surprised but incredibly pleased by his boyfriend’s change in demeanor.

“That turn you on, Craig?” He was deliberately keeping space between their bodies, his lips close enough to Craig’s ear for him to feel the heat of his breath. Craig leaned into him, hoping that he would kiss him, or nip him, but Tweek pulled away just in time. “That make you wanna be fucked too? Make you hard?” His voice was a sure, harsh murmur, causing shivers to wrack up and down Craig’s spine.

“God, yeah,” Craig replied. It came out in almost a moan, that he tried to suppress and choke down, until Tweek volleyed back -

“Let’s see,” and pushed the blankets off both of them, and Craig groaned in earnest. Their room wasn’t cold by any means, but there was still enough of a temperature difference that they both jumped a little. Tweek immediately cast his gaze downward. “Oh sweet jesus you're _really_ hard,” he yelped in impressed surprise, before sharply exhaling and _growling_ into Craig’s ear, “I never get tired of looking at you, you’re so _big_. Touch it.”

Craig’s whole body shook, from his ears to the tips of his toes, and his cock throbbed. _“God._ Porn?” he asked, waving his phone a bit.

“Fuck the porn,” Tweek replied, and snatched away his phone, placing it face-down on the nightstand. “Lemme watch you.” Their eyes met, and Tweek, with his blown-out eyes and arousal-red ears, smiled at him gently, a smile which Craig reciprocated. “You look amazing,” he said.

“Mmh, you do,” Craig gasped back. Tweek was on his side with his head resting in the heel of his hand, staring at Craig, still wearing his black briefs, and stroking himself over them, agonizingly slow. “Tell me what to do.” Craig wrapped his hand around his own cock, unmoving, but his hips still spasmed a bit once it made contact.

“That’s… that’s what I was _hoping_ you’d say earlier,” Tweek mused, “Before you got all _mad_. Slow,” he added, quickly, before Craig could speak. “Go slow.”

Craig’s emerging moan was interrupted by a slight, breathy chuckle. “Yeah. Kinda figured out that’s what you wanted, after the fact,” he muttered. He began to move his hand, slowly, up and down his length as he watched Tweek extract himself from his underpants, too. “Like this, baby?” he asked, “Slow like this?”

“ _Fah_ , fuck, yes,” Tweek moaned. He kept his eyes on Craig’s aching cock, dripping with clear precome, on his shaking thighs, on his slender, large hand moving up and down his equally large, thick cock at a tormentingly lazy pace. “Little faster,” he whispered, “Little harder.” Craig, likewise, couldn’t keep his eyes off of Tweek, as he matched his pace with his own strokes.

Craig unleashed an uncontrolled, needy keen when he tightened his grip and focused his touches on the head of his cock, for just a bit. He felt like he was going to _lose it,_ completely, but was determined to hold on until Tweek said the word. Still, he wanted more, he wanted to be touched - it was torture of the best kind to be deprived of his boyfriend’s lips, his hands, his tongue. “Kiss me?” he panted, looking Tweek right into his beautiful green eyes. “Touch me?”

He was met with a gasp, a smile and a shake of the head in a firm _no._ “I’m telling you what to do, remember?” His grip on his own length slackened a bit, and he blinked, and shifted slightly. “Wanna use lube?”

“Yeah,” breathed Craig, and Tweek turned over to rifle around in the bedside table for a moment, emerging with a small tube that, after squeezing out a bit into his own palm and returning his hand to his member, he pressed into Craig’s free hand. “How much?” Craig asked.

“L-lots, much as you want,” was Tweek’s reply. He bit down on his lip harder, as he focused on Craig applying the liquid to his cock, and his hand. “Play with your ass while you’re at it,” he added in a greedy, demanding hiss.

He didn’t have to be told twice - Craig’s moan was louder than ever as he pressed lube-slick fingers to the pucker of his ass, rubbing himself, relaxing into his own touches while wishing they were coming from the man laying next to him.

“Fuck yourself,” breathed Tweek. His eyes were downright wild, and the flush that always appeared on his pale skin during sex had extended from the tips of his ears, to his cheeks, to his freckled chest and shoulders - it was always the indicator Craig used to determine that his boyfriend was _getting there_ , that he was mad with want, that he’d been taken over by nothing but lust and _need_ . It was something different, something amazing and beautiful, to just _watch_ him. Craig relaxed into the finger prodding at his entrance, pausing his ministrations on his cock for a moment to squeeze more lube onto his intruding hand. He hissed and groaned as he pushed his finger all the way up. “Yeah,” Tweek breathed from next to him. “More.”

He’d added a second, and then a third, and then, after minutes of accommodating himself to _that_ many, Tweek breathed a _fuck it, all of them_ into his ear, and there was the fourth. He could barely _think,_ could barely process the filthy things Tweek was whispering, something about being _his_ ? Something about opening himself up? Whatever it was, it only made him grip his cock and gasp and drive his hand _harder_ , and say something back, that he didn’t register, something about being stretched out and _fuck,_ Craig wanted to shut his eyes, wanted his head to fall back on the pillow as he unleashed guttural, screaming moans into the still air of their bedroom and writhe against himself, _into_ himself, and he started to, until Tweek touched him, _finally_ touched him, jerking his head to the side by digging his fingers into Craig’s jaw, rougher than he’d expected but, oh _,_ did it ever feel amazing. “Look at me while you fuck yourself, Craig,” he whispered. Craig whined when he took his hand away, but kept his eyes open. Their foreheads fell against each other, for just a moment, despite their unspoken promise not to touch, and Tweek switched hands, letting his head fall onto the pillow and the lube-slick hand that formerly grasped his dick reached out to gently, lovingly push Craig’s bangs away from his eyes.

Tweek’s eyes were fixated not on Craig’s cock, or the fingers in his ass, but on his mouth. He tilted his head forward, slightly, almost as if he was going to bridge the gap between them in a kiss, before he turned away with his entire body, arching his back off the bed, dropping his head to his chest, and crying, “I, _fuck_ , I’m gonna come.” Craig looked down, and, sure enough, his cock was obviously painfully hard in his grip, leaking precome that dripped down his hand, between his fingers. Craig couldn’t keep his eyes off of it.

“Do it on me,” Craig rasped, grinding himself into his fingers by moving his hips in a hard circle as he pressed up against his prostate, causing his eyes to roll back into his head in pleasure. “Fuck, Tweek, come all over me,” he cried, knowing that he would soon follow. “On my fuckin’ _face,_ ” he gasped before he could stop himself. He felt depraved, dirty, like a _fucking whore_ as soon as he said that, but that only made him flush, and shake, fuck himself harder. “C’mon,” he whined.

 _“Agh!_ What the hell, Craig? _”_ Tweek sounded shocked, almost scandalized - but, with how quickly he sprung to his knees to kneel over his boyfriend, it was, very obviously, something that he wanted to hear. His arm pumped up and down quicker than ever, his hips thrusting into his fist, fucking himself into his own hand in a jerky, erratic rhythm, as he grabbed Craig’s hair, at the base of the neck, pulling his head back roughly. “Jesus fucking Christ I love you,” he wailed before he let go, his orgasm spilling out of him. It was nearly the moment that Craig felt the thick liquid hit his cheek, and his lips, and he reflexively darted his tongue out to taste it, that he felt the building heat in his abdomen explode, and he came, too, harder than he could remember coming, seeing stars behind his eyes, moaning words he didn’t even register himself saying while he unloaded onto his own stomach. His hips jerked in one final, harsh thrust before he extracted his fingers with a gasp. Tweek had since collapsed onto his side of the bed, bonelessly, laying on his back with a blissed-out grin on his face.

“Holy shit,” they both exhaled, simultaneously, which caused them to quickly dissolve into laughter, and Tweek to rise from the bed.

“Yeah, uh. _Heh_. So that was hot as fuck,” Tweek said, still shaky. “You need a towel.” He padded down the hall, his still-hard cock bobbing up and down with every step, and returned with an old beach towel that he tossed onto Craig. “Here ya go, sweetie,” he said in a sarcastic, singsong voice.

The towel landed on his face, for which Craig was silently grateful. Having Tweek orgasm onto his face was the hottest thing he could think of in the moment, but now that they were finished, he couldn’t wait to get it off of him before it dried in his eyebrows or, god forbid, his hair. “Prick,” Craig muttered, although he was grinning. “Not even gonna help me clean up?” Tweek simply laughed more while Craig sopped everything off of himself.

“I don’t think you freak out about everything,” was the first thing Craig said, after he was fully clean. “I’m sorry I said that, I didn’t mean-”

“I know,” shrugged Tweek. “Not like you’re wrong. I _do_ freak out about everything,” he continued, calmly. He was always calm after he orgasmed, free of tension and twitches and anxiety. “It’s fine.” He kissed Craig on the forehead again. “I’m sorry I said you were inhibited, I…” He raked a hand through  his hair, and emitted a jerky laugh. “You begged me to come on your _face,_ man, you’re not inhibited! I just meant-”

“I know what you meant.” Craig smiled. “I already told you it was all right, I’m not mad. I was _never_ really mad. C’mere, babe.”

Tweek curled up against him, on his side, head nestled in the crook of his neck. “Wanna watch something on your phone before we sleep?”

Craig laughed softly, through his nose, causing Tweek’s hair to ruffle slightly. “Sure. Not porn, though.”

Tweek giggled in kind. “Shut up, you know that’s not what I meant.” They kissed again, sweetly, softly, then Craig pulled up Netflix on his phone, and they enjoyed the rest of their night together, argument forgotten, before drifting off in each others’ arms.


	11. day ten - gunplay (mychaos/bunny)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chaos is finally at Mysterion’s mercy. Bunny. 
> 
> Prompt - gunplay, aka good times with (fake) weapons, aka cementing my afterlife in the fiery pits of hell.
> 
> BIG FAT WARNING: intense BDSM. it's all 100% consensual and all characters are of age, but these two play partners/FWBs are into some fucked. up. shit. they are definitely practitioners of risk-aware consensual kink. Gunplay, face slapping, bleeding, edgeplay, bondage, fear play, superheroes and super villains... okay, just turn back now if you cannot handle any of that.... HOWEVER it ends on a very sweet note with emphasis on aftercare, SO THERES THAT. Consider all the Bunny fluff I write a preemptive apology for this filth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, uh, here it is.
> 
> I can't believe I wrote this, much less put it online for people to SEE, and all I can think is, what on earth would my mother think? Or my coworkers who think I’m just a basic bitch with nothing to her? Or the sweet old ladies who buy me coffee when it’s busy at work? Now every time I see a little old lady I’ll be reminded of my Mysterion/Chaos gunplay fic, and hang my head in shame.
> 
> I lied, last time. This is the filthiest thing I've ever written. Don’t read this.

“Chaos, you will pay for your wrongdoings. You will  _ suffer.” _ The masked vigilante looms above him, voice a low, rumbling growl. “Your reign of terror and misery is at an end.” A gloved hand against his throat, firm and unyielding; another at the crown of his head, harshly yanking him back by the tuft of hair that sticks out of his helmet, exposing the long length of his neck. A pair of lips, sucking at the closest spot underneath his ear that can be reached as the hand moves from neck to bound wrist. Teeth rough and sharp on his neck, ears, jaw, beginning in slight nips but increasing in intensity until they’re biting hard enough to mark. To  _ claim.  _ “Fifteen years, Chaos. Fifteen years to capture you. Fifteen years you have evaded me, but oh.” Mysterion laughs. “I have you now, Professor.”

Chaos squirms in his chair. He cannot move. He cannot  _ see _ . It’s over, he’s caught, Mysterion has  _ won _ . And oh, god, he loves it. He  _ wants  _ it. Over all the years, he has dreamed of this moment, secretly, when he is unwinding in his Chaos Lair, when it is quiet and still in the dead of night after he and his minions have wreaked an acceptable level of havoc upon their town - and his stomach drops out with the thought that, perhaps, Mysterion has, as well. The hero’s mouth,  _ god _ his mouth, hovers dangerously close to his own, the smell of cigarette smoke and mint gum almost close enough to taste, and Chaos cannot help but dart his tongue between his lips. They are wrenched apart by a gloved hand, finger thrust into his mouth.

He bites, and Mysterion yelps. “Fucker!”

“Fuck  _ you, _ ” Chaos says, defiant -  _ bratty, _ he thinks, heat rising in his cheeks.

“Chaos,” spits Mysterion, and his mouth, that hot, cruel,  _ beautiful _ mouth is on his own, not kissing, but capturing his lower lip between those same sharp teeth, not pulling away even when Chaos yells against him and twitches in his chair hard enough to make it scrape against the floor.

“Talk,” Mysterion growls.

Chaos laughs, or at least tries to; he  _ hopes _ it’s a laugh and not the deep, frantic moan threatening to break free from his lips.  _ “Never,”  _ he snaps, and he  _ spits _ , and his head snaps to one side.  _ Slap _ . And another.  _ Slap _ . And his ears are ringing, ever so slightly, his cheeks stinging despite the layer of fabric between his face and Mysterion’s hands. Another one, across his mouth, even harder, and it is then that Chaos feels his head start to go fuzzy, start to drift. He lets out another laugh, but it is pitiful, weak. “Never,” he repeats.

There’s a sudden change in Mysterion’s voice. It is like a bell, like honey, soft and beautiful and  _ Kenny.  _ “Checking in.” The same hands that made him hurt and ache and cry lift his helmet up, ever so slightly. The same lips that spat hateful words, the same mouth that marred his milky skin with red marks sure to bloom into deep purple by the next day sweetly makes contact with his forehead. “You good?”

Butters lets his head drop, and exhales, long and ragged. “Green light,” he says, but a sigh. “Keep going.”

“Like we planned? You sure?”

“Like we planned,” Butters affirms. “It’s not real.” His swollen lips curl into a smile, and Kenny captures them with his own. Hot, searing, and wet kisses are traded back and forth; Kenny pulls away without warning, leaving Butters’ mouth open, waiting. He gasps, and whimpers at the loss of contact.

“Whore,” Kenny whispers, with an edge of softness, and Butters moans, the plainly-uttered word sending a spike of arousal through his body, to his neglected erection that twitches against his light blue briefs. The slap to Butters’ cheek, this time, is light, playful - at least, before Mysterion digs a thumb into the soft spot beneath his jaw, and uses his grasp to lift his head. “Talk,” he repeats. “Where is the device?”

Butters has to chew on his lip to bite back a giggle and maintain his composure. They’d never settled on what, exactly, the device  _ is,  _ or why Mysterion needs it so badly, or what hijinx Chaos is plotting with said device, and, although he is more than invested in their game, although he has long wanted more than anything to be exactly where he was, tied to a chair in his own apartment - his  _ lair, _ rather, he corrects himself mentally - and  _ used _ , he can’t help but recognize the silliness of it all. Still, Chaos emerges from within him in a evil, defiant laugh. “In your wildest dreams, hero,” he bellows. “I will release chaos, devastation, and doom! I will- mmph!” the large palm of a bare hand presses over his mouth, silencing him, the realization that Mysterion removed a glove dawning upon him.

“Listen to me. There are two ways this can go, Chaos,” the hero snarls. “You can give me what I want. Or, I can take it from you. You can make this easy on yourself, and I’ll untie you and let you go. Or-” he tightens his grip - “You can fight. You can struggle, you can resist, and I will  _ rip _ it from you. What’s it gonna be?”

Chaos is still, silent. Mysterion’s other hand travels down his body, brushing against the hardness pressing against his underpants,  _ finally, _ impossibly slow, and it is a head-rush of relief, it is a struggle against the bonds fastened upon his wrists and ankles, it is stars behind his eyes and wonder and beauty and lust, and he tosses his head back with a wanton cry against Mysterion’s hand. It doesn’t last long, and Chaos whimpers desperately the very moment he pulls away.

“Tell me,” says Mysterion. “Now.”

Chaos is forced to groan his answer into his palm, and Mysterion laughs, and, after several tries, rips away his hand.

_ “Fuck  _ you,” Chaos yells.

Mysterion simply laughs. “No. Fuck  _ you.” _ And there it is, again, the jolt, the lighting-rush of just how fucking  _ turned on _ he is at the mercy of his arch rival, and he can feel his cock leaking precum, sticking to the front of his underpants, throbbing; and, were there to be mercy, were he to be released, he knows that it would be a deep, tumescent red. He knows that he is flushed, that his skin is pink, that he is shaking and desperate and nothing if an incredible sight for Kenny - for  _ Mysterion - _ to see.

It’s likely seconds, but feels like minutes, or an hour, or a fucking  _ lifetime _ that Mysterion leaves him there, to travel across the room and back, and Chaos lets his head droop, allows it to loll against his chest, which is heaving up and down in shallow, frenetic breaths.

“Tap out if you need,” says Kenny, before Mysterion, oh  _ god _ ,  _ fuck, god help, god please give me more, _ presses something against his mouth. “Open the  _ fuck _ up, villain,” he demands.

Cold metal, and salt - almost like blood, he thinks, and then he cannot think, and then all that dawns on him is the  _ size _ , how much larger it is than he’d imagined, how the barrel scrapes against his teeth and how guilty, how horribly fucking  _ dirty _ and astonishingly fucked-up he feels when his eyes, underneath the blindfold, roll back into his head and he lets out an uncontrollable, muffled moan. “Fuck,” he attempts to rasp around the barrel, but it comes out a garbled mess.

Mysterion laughs. “I could fucking end you right here.” There is a small, sharp gasp from Mysterion’s nose, and Chaos takes a bit of comfort in the fact that he might be just as afraid as he is - just as afraid, or just as aroused, or both? And he knows it’s just a replica, he  _ knows _ there’s no way the other man would, or even  _ could _ hurt him, but the fear, the threat is still there and, as much as he wishes he didn’t, he  _ loves  _ it.

“No,” Chaos tries to say. “I’m sorry,” but he cannot get it out.

“What was that?” It’s a rush of relief, tinged with loss, when the gun is pulled from his mouth, replaced by an outright shiver of arousal-tinged terror when his helmet is half-pulled aside, and it’s -  _ Fuck, god, fuck -  _ pressed against his temple. “Are you sorry?”

Is he crying or sweating or bleeding or - “I’m sorry, fuck, god, I’m sorry,” he pleads, and feels tears or sweat or whatever it is running down his cheeks, he feels like he’s going to come in his pants, like he wants to run away, like he wants to shut down, like he wants to be untied and fucked or like he wants to be tied  _ down _ and fucked, and - “God, please,” he begs, for what, he isn’t sure. “Please.”

“Prove it.” 

After a zip and a rustling of clothing, Mysterion tangles his free hand into Chaos’ hair. His cock is leaking and heavy against his mouth, and Chaos resists, at first, shaking his head so that his tightly-closed lips brush against the slick tip. “I  _ told _ you to open up.” He digs the barrel into his temple.

It feels like he is far away, like he is dissolving into the chair as Chaos does, resistance stripped. His eyes well up when Mysterion hits the back of his throat, causing him to gag, his throat to contract around his cock, both men moaning at the respective sensations. He can hear Mysterion saying something encouraging, or hateful, or both, and whatever it is, he needs it. He needs it  _ all _ , needs to surrender, and it isn’t long before Mysterion’s thrusts into his mouth are deeper, stronger, before the salty, bitter liquid of his orgasm fills his mouth. And when he extracts his cock, when he lets Chaos’ head drop and mouth slack open, what he didn’t -  _ couldn’t -  _ swallow dribbles from his lips, down his chin.

“Mysterion,” he gasps, and realizes he’s still hard, realizes he’s heaving, whimpering.

“Oh, _ fuck,  _ Leo, baby. Are you okay?” Kenny’s hand caresses his cheek, all soft, caring gentleness and love, dragging through the mess upon his lips, and he pulls away. “Fuck.”

There is a clatter of metal against wood and a stomping of boots. Slight reverberations travel through the floor to the bare soles of Chaos’ feet. A shaking yelp pierces the air. “Oh, shit.” Kenny’s voice sounds once more, with his usual clarity, no trace of Mysterion’s gravely grumble. “Shit,” he repeats. Professor Chaos feels his helmet rapidly ripped from his head, and the cloth over his eyes soon follows. It takes a moment or two for his eyes to adjust to the surprising brightness of his well-lit loft apartment. “Uh… red. Red light.” Kenny backs up, and his hands bury themselves in his own hair, fluffing it up to its usual mane of honey blond. “Sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” He is swift at cutting through the rope, even quicker at cleaning the mess off of Butters’ face with the damp washcloth they’d set aside earlier.

_ Red light? That’s our… oh.  _ Butters blinks, and flexes his freed fingers against the hard wood of the chair’s armrest. “Red?” He repeats, dumbly. “What? Oh, hamburgers,” he whines, despite himself.

“Sorry,” Kenny repeats. “ _ Sorry _ , I… Fuck.” He reaches out a hand to pull Butters to his feet, and envelop him into a crushing, frantic embrace. “You’re bleeding,” he states, simply, the thumb of his still-gloved hand pressing softly against Butter’s lower lip - it is then that Butters feels the warm, sticky wetness of blood, and sting of the cut.

And Butters doesn’t know what to say.  _ Why’d you end the scene _ seems like it would be inappropriate; it’s within either one of their rights to do so.  _ Don’t stop, _ does, too - as much as he wants to beg and plead and grovel for Kenny to tie him back up, to use him, to reduce him to tears, to  _ nothing,  _ to a quivering shell of a person, to a heap of tears and sweat and saliva and cum, it’s over, and as hard as his cock strains against his briefs, it’s done. He purposely pushes aside thoughts of his arousal - Kenny. Kenny  _ needs _ him. It’s a quick stumble to the couch, Kenny’s hand gingerly pressed against Butters’ lower back, his half-fastened bedsheet cape brushing against the floor, and they’re wrapped against each other, pressing the upper halves of their bodies together, and Butters, despite himself, despite  _ knowing _ that it’s a stupid thing to do, begins to giggle, and surprises both himself and the man next to him with what comes out of his mouth.

“‘Chaos! Your reign of terror is at an end!’” Butters mocks, sore, hoarse voice as low as he can manage. “How cliche can you get?”

“Don’t make fun of me,” chuckles Kenny into Butters’ silken mop of blonde. There is a soft kiss against his head, before Kenny pulls away. A moment passes as he stares ahead, silent and unblinking. “Hey… are you alright?” he asks. His expression exudes concern and warmth, a far cry from the snarling superhero of just a few minutes ago. “I don’t know if I am,” he continues, “That was…” he exhales; it is almost a laugh. “That was a little much.”

Butters simply shrugs, and tightens his hand around the larger, slightly calloused one of Kenny. “It’s what I asked for. I’m… I’m good, for  _ now _ , at least, y’know? It’s fine you stopped.” His thumb circles the junction where Kenny’s hand meets wrist, a gesture of shaky tenderness, of thanks. “But, hey, um, Kenny? Could you stay here tonight? I might need you later.”

“Yeah,” replies Kenny instantly. “Yeah, you know what, I need you now,” he adds with another clutched, choked breath. “I feel pretty damn horrible, dude. I  _ hurt _ you, you’re  _ bleeding,  _ and-”

“ _ Shh. _ ” Butters’ arms envelop him, pulling him into his lap. He wants to giggle about how ridiculous they must look, two grown men half-dressed in slapdash-sewn superhero costumes, the cut on his lip hardening into a jellied scab,  his hair askew and cheeks red, the front of Kenny's costume still open and his softening erection peeking out through the slit.  “I wanted it. It’s okay.”

In response, Kenny nuzzles his face against the crook of Butters’ neck, his soft, messy hair tickling Butters’ cheek, and nods. For a while, they stay there, chests and diaphragms expanding in tandem with each deep, uncertain breath, hands petting and stroking each other's hair and backs. Kenny exhales, this time in an unmistakable sob.

“Oh, jeez, honey.” Butters breaks the silence with a murmur, returning Kenny’s kiss from before, at the crown of his head. “It’s okay. I’m  _ okay,” _ he reassures. “Everybody has their limits. You’re allowed to have yours just as much as I am.”

“Thought I was supposed to take care of  _ you _ afterwards, _ ”  _ says Kenny, pouty and defiant.

“We take care of each  _ other.  _ I know drop, and you’re droppin’,” replies Butters. “I’m here, buddy. You’re okay.” He slides a hand up to weave his fingers into Kenny’s hair. Short nails and soft hands tickle and massage his scalp. “There ya go. You’re good.”

Kenny seems to relax under his touch, to melt into his chest. His fingers continue to clutch and knead against the threadbare fabric of his cape. “Can we watch a movie?” He asks. He sounds very small, and very young. But, when he pulls back to extract himself from his friend and lover’s embrace, after Butters’ rumbled affirmative, and they lock eyes, they take in the disheveled state of their respective costumes, the flattened, tangled mess of Butters’ undercut, typically styled so carefully, the laughter begins - tentative at first, particularly uncertain on Kenny’s end, but quickly dissolving into shared, pealing giggles.

“Fuck _ ,  _ Leo, _ ”  _ he gasps between their volleyed laughter, “You look so  _ stupid.” _ Butters grins, as wide as his split lip will allow, at how Kenny’s eyes wrinkle at the corners while he laughs.

“Now… you just shut up! So do you!” 

They kiss, lightly, as to not disturb the cut. “We should probably change,” Kenny supplies, “And then, uh, I dunno. Asses of Fire 2? Order a pizza and crack open some beers and cuddle a little bit?”

“Sure, bud. Let’s,” Butters says with a smile.

“Do you, uh…” Kenny clears his throat. “You need to get off? I mean, I did, and you were still… and I feel bad that I-”

Butters interrupts him with another press of lips. “Later, maybe? Just lemme take care of you for now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel unclean. Happy new year, and see you in hell! I had to do a fair amount of research for this chapter, and I feel like I'm on some kind of list now.
> 
> If you want to join the sin club, I made a tumblr sideblog for all of my NSFW things. @rachhells-lair dot tumblr dot S I N. don't follow if you're underage but if you are you SHOULDN'T BE READING THIS ANYWAY JFC.


	12. day thirteen - rimming (creek)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kinda silly, pretty filthy, established relationship Creek in which Craig acts like the embarrassing idiot of a fiance he is, and then eats out his man until neither can see straight. This vaguely takes place in my actor!Tweek universe from the orgasm denial chapter, before they get married.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Craig Tucker Eats Ass 2k18 pass it on.
> 
> Honestly I just wanted to write something lighthearted and silly after that last chapter. It started out as such and then turned into unapologetic pornography, as it should be. This is unedited and my first shot at writing about somebody going to town on a booty.

" _Psst._ Hey, Tweek."

Craig spoke low enough that it wasn't likely anyone else in the movie theater could hear them. While it wasn't exactly crowded and they were the only two people occupying their row, there were enough people watching the film that talking would be frowned-upon. Their original movie of choice was Drive Along 9, but between Tweek just  _having_ to go back to their apartment for his sweatshirt, because  _movie theaters are always so cold, fuck!,_  Craig stopping at the 7/11 on the corner to stuff his jacket full of as much candy as possible, and getting stuck behind a cement mixer on their way to the movie, they were late enough that their only choices remaining were either seeing Bee Movie 3 a second time, or sitting through yet another adaptation of Pride and Prejudice. After a short argument, they begrudgingly went with the latter. Whichever up-and-coming ingenue they'd chosen to play Elizabeth Bennet was only slightly better at acting than a plank of wood, and, thirty minutes into the film, the couple was beginning to get restless.

"Hey. Honey."

Tweek ignored him, and pointedly stared at Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy's courtship. The actress on screen recited her lines as if she were reading a transmission manual, and Tweek couldn't help but roll his eyes.

 _"Tweek,"_ Craig repeated, sliding his hand onto Tweek's knee.

"What." Tweek's general lack of indoor voice was not conducive to having a conversation in the middle of a boring Jane Austen adaptation, and he knew it. He shot Craig a sideways glare that could melt steel. "Watch the movie," he whispered as best as he could. The couple seating directly in front of them stirred, the male of the pair tossing a short glance over his shoulder.

"I'm bored," Craig muttered, "This movie is  _boring."_ His hand began to creep up Tweek's leg and, before Tweek knew it, his palm was pressed flush against the crotch of his jeans.

"Craig, shut  _up,"_ Tweek whispered - well, more like a stage whisper. This time, it was the woman's turn to glare at them, her upper lip curling into a scowl. Craig's hand  _squeezed._

"And, I'm horny." Craig's breath, hot against Tweek's ear, sent a tremor of arousal into the base of Tweek's spine, which he tried his hardest to ignore. "I wanna eat you out."

Tweek had to bite his lip to keep from crying out. While he made no attempt to push Craig's hand away, even pressed upwards against the touch, he glared at his fiance even harder than before.  _"Shh,"_ he hissed.

Craig, being Craig, did not _shh._ "I wanna tie your hands behind your back and lick your ass 'til you cum, babe," he murmured, offhanded and casual, like he was complimenting Tweek's shirt.

This time, Tweek couldn't hold back. "GAH! Craig!"

It wasn't Craig whispering sexual compliments that finally drew the earnest ire of the couple in front of them, but Tweek's reaction to them. The man, blonde, bearded, and looking like he was ready to kick ass, finally spun all the way around. "Yo! Shut the fuck up!"

While Tweek glared first at Craig, then at the floor, and said nothing, Craig, with his feet still propped upon the seat in front of him, flipped him off with a sarcastic smile.

"You got a problem, brah?" He rose, flexing his pectorals under his too-tight PC Delta t-shirt. "I'm tryin' to watch a beautiful romantic film with my lady friend, and you two keep interrupting."

"Agh! Sorry, man, we-"

Craig rose, defiantly staring down at the PC bro as if his lanky self could take him on.  _"You're_ interrupting the film,  _bro,_ " 

"Sit the fuck down!" somebody cried from the back row. Craig, being Craig, tossed a middle finger over his shoulder.

"Yeah, bro, sit the fuck down!"

The voice from the back returned. "You sit down too, asshole!"

"Oh, fuck you," Craig answered, middle finger still up in the air.

In the end, it took three ushers to break up the fight - one to politely, but firmly ask Craig and Tweek to vacate the premises, and two to forcibly remove the angry bro while his girlfriend rolled her eyes and began texting somebody on her phone. Once they were in the lobby, they waited long enough for the other party of the fight to peel out of the parking lot in his hybrid SUV (leaving his embarrassed girlfriend behind after she told him to just _leave,_  Shane!), Craig scoffed and said, "That movie sucked anyway. Let's go, honey." He ignored the usher's protestations to stay and fill out an incident report, and grabbed Tweek by the hand, practically dragging him out of the theater.

Tweek, a mixture of completely mortified and more than a little turned on, made an unintelligible squeaking noise as he gave what he hoped was a sympathetic glace at the employee, but, in reality, his face was flushed pink and his mouth was set into a thin, clenched line. As Craig led him to their parking space, his fingernails dug into the back of Craig's hand hard enough to leave small indents; Craig's flinching was a barely noticeable narrowing of eyes and crinkle of nose as he squeezed Tweek's hand back twice as hard, making him jump. It wasn't until they were back in their car, Craig in the passenger seat, that Tweek blew up at him, hands thrown up in the air and shoulders hunched up in with small spasms.

"Fucking  _Christ,_ Craig, you're -  _gah!-_  you're so embarrassing sometimes!" He cuffed Craig on the shoulder, borderline playfully, but just hard enough to make him wince a little. "What the  _fuck_ , dude!"

Craig just laughed, that low, nasally laugh of his that Tweek regarded as somehow simultaneously the most irritating sound in the world and the best, most endearing thing he'd ever heard. "Did that movie suck, or what?"

Tweek's head twitched in frustration, his ear nearly meeting his shoulder with the force of it all. "Really? Really, asshole? You got us kicked out of the movie and now we can't show our  _faces_ at this theater again, and, shit, the _cops_ are probably after us now, and-"

"The cops are not after us, baby." Craig chuckled lightly. "And pretty sure you're the one who got us kicked out, being all loud like that."

"Well!" Tweek sputtered as he started the engine and began their drive home, "You started it! Feeling me up in there, and, Jesus, talking about-"

"Yeah, well, I still wanna eat you out," Craig interrupted with a smile, sticking the tip of his pink tongue through his lips, brows wagging suggestively.

"Oh my god, you are such a weirdo." Tweek released on hand from the wheel to clench into his hair, exasperated, despite the tiny smile creeping onto the corner of his mouth. "Why the fuck am I engaged to you?" he laughed.

"Because I eat the booty like groceries," Craig said flatly.

Tweek's half-smile broke into a full on grin as he let out a barking laugh. "Say that again, and the wedding is off, man!"

"Like  _groceries,"_ repeated Craig, chuckling a little himself.

There was no way that Tweek could quell his laughter or the smile on his face. "I fucking love you, you dick."

Once again, Craig reached his hand over to rest upon Tweek's thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Love you too." They drove the rest of the way home in relative silence, Craig only speaking up when their apartment was in view.

"Hey, Tweek?" Reluctant to take his eyes off the road, Tweek could still make out from the corner of his eye that Craig's gaze was fixed upon him with something that may have been concern. "I'm sorry if I upset you."

Tweek sighed. While Craig had, in the moment, pissed him off, he was already replaying the memory of them being kicked out of the movie theater in his brain, knowing that it was another moment in their relationship that they would both fondly look back upon, another moment that was ridiculous, but uniquely _them._ "Don't worry about it, okay? That movie really did suck," Tweek mused while he pulled into their apartment's lot, "The fuck were they thinking with that actress? I, ah, I guess she was _pretty?_  But fucking, I don't know, take an acting class,  _Christ._ " He snickered to himself, again, while both men exited the vehicle. He waited until they approached the apartment complex door to click the remote, locking the car with a short honk.

"Yeah, well, the dude playing Darcy was hot," Craig drawled, "But yeah. What the hell?" They shared another laugh, and, this time, when their hands threaded together, there were no angry squeezes or sharp fingernails and, the minute they got in the door, Craig was on him, tilting his chin up and bending down to mash their lips together, his tongue sweeping against Tweek's lower lip to open his mouth. Sultry, slow, yet forceful right off the bat, their tongues tangled together in a mutual and equal battle for dominance. Craig raked his fingers down Tweek's back, settling his large, strong hands upon the curve of his ass, before pushing him against the door, Tweek gasping and pressing against him feverishly, desperately; he kissed Craig back quicker, deeper yet, like it was the only thing he'd ever wanted as his fingers clutched a death-grip upon the soft hem of Craig's shirt.

Craig pulled away with a moan, and then a lighter, shallow kiss, before saying, "Wanna shower and then go at each other some more."

"Oh, fuck yeah," Tweek breathed, his lips pink and wet with both his and Craig's saliva. "But, don't, ah..." He cleared his throat and, with a toss of his hair and a deep breath, he grabbed Craig by his wrist, stopping him in his tracks before either could venture further into their home. Exhaling forcefully, he pushed his body against Craig's taller one, crotch-first, turning him around so that he was the one pinned against the solid wood of their door. Even though he had to stand on his toes for his mouth to reach Craig's ear, he darted out his tongue to trace the shell, and lowered his voice to breathe, "Don't tie my hands. I wanna pull your hair while you're down there."

Craig's eyes flashed, dark and predatory. "Hell yes," he said, so low it was almost a growl.

"Race you to the shower," Tweek said playfully, darting off to the bathroom before Craig even had a chance to register his challenge.

* * *

"You always look so hot like this," Craig uttered slowly, casting his eyes up and down Tweek's body. Tweek was prone on his back, legs spread and damp hair spread around him like a mane, his hips having been hoisted up so that Craig could shove a pillow underneath them, allowing him full access to his ass. "You're so fucking..." Craig stroked a hand up the inside of his thigh, using his fingernails to lightly scratch the soft, sensitive skin, making Tweek shiver and spread his legs farther out yet. "God, you're amazing."

Tweek always imagined that most people wouldn't take Craig's naturally sassy, nasal monotone seriously during sex, when he uttered those beautiful, dirty things he'd say, whether he'd shower Tweek with praise, or reduce him into a begging mess with nothing but his words. But, Tweek wasn't most people, and, to him, it was static shock up and down his spine, it was invariably the hottest thing he had ever heard, even when Craig was unoriginal with his phrasing, even if he did nothing but say  _"I love you"_ with a kiss and a moan. Craig kissed him, starting on the lips, as deep and hot as before, then moving down his body with light nips and kisses, pausing to swirl his tongue around a nipple, and, while Tweek had already tangled a hand into Craig's silken black hair, he had to summon every ounce of willpower he had not to tighten his grip and hold him there, or yank his head back to pull him to the other side of his chest, instead allowing Craig to continue downward. His mouth seemed to be  _everywhere, god -_ when he sucked on Tweek's hipbone and moved his hand upward at the same time, firmly stroking his fingers against the crack of his ass, Tweek couldn't control the moan that emerged from his lips, nor how high-pitched and desperate it sounded.

And then Craig's mouth was  _on_ him, nothing but pure, hot wetness engulfing his cock nearly to the hilt in one fell swoop; he matched Tweek's cry with a muffled hum of his own as he began to  _move,_ the vibrations jolting Tweek's hips upward, far enough into Craig's mouth to make his throat constrict into a gag, but he didn't stop, instead choosing to alternate his long, slow sucks up and down his fiance's length with languid licks.

"Don't stop." Tweek threaded his other hand into Craig's hair, knowing that Craig wouldn't protest - knowing that he, in fact, fucking  _loved_ it when he pushed his head down and fucked his mouth in shallow thrusts. When he began to do just that, Craig let out a louder, stronger moan around his cock, removing himself for but a moment to suck on his own fingers, a string of saliva trailing out of his mouth as he pulled them out, and - " _Ohh_ god" - continued his ministrations against Tweek's hole.

It was only when Tweek's thighs began to shake, when his thrusts increased in intensity and he started emitting tiny, breathy groans that indicated he was close, _so_ close, that Craig released his cock with a pop, and arched an eyebrow at Tweek. "Ready for me to rock your fuckin' world?" The way he waggled his tongue would, at any other time, be nothing but obnoxious and silly, but all Tweek could think of was how good it had felt, licking that sensitive spot right under the head of his cock, and how much he wanted,  _needed_ that same tongue against him, inside him. "I'm gonna go to  _town_ on your tight little ass." Craig bit his own lip, almost as if he were biting back a smile from his cliched dirty talk, and fisted his hand around Tweek's length.

"You're so -  _oh, fuck, Craig -"_ Tweek thrust his hips up, like he was fucking the hand wrapped around his cock, so tight, strong, slippery but stll not  _enough,_  and back, like he was asking the fingers massaging his entrance to fuck _him,_ to open him up and stretch him out and destroy him, and fuck, did he ever need more _-_ "You keep saying such  _stupid_ things today, Craig, and -  _nnnngh oh sweet f-fucking Jesus your mouth, god."_

He'd flattened his tongue, first dragging it along the achingly sensitive skin of his balls, and then against his tight, puckered entrance, all the saliva in his mouth seemingly gathered on the tip of his tongue, running out of his mouth and down his chin as he started to lick, slowly, gently at first. It'd been a few days since he'd shaved his face, and the short scruff of his emerging facial hair tickled against Tweek's spread cheeks, providing a curious, but not at all unpleasant contrast to the wet velvet of his tongue. He looked up, for a moment, not removing his face from where he'd wanted it -  _Where it belongs,_ thought Tweek, with a burning, almost shameful sensation stretching across his chest, shooting down into his stomach and across the front of his thighs - and locked eyes with Tweek, and he could tell, by the way they sparkled and the way the corners narrowed that Craig was smiling, if not with his mouth, with his eyes and his spirit and with want and love.

He was lapping and kissing and it was just so _much;_ each time Tweek thought they'd fallen into a rhythm, Craig did something  _different,_ changed the pace - it was frustrating; it was fucking amazing. "God _damn_ , you taste so good," Craig murmured, the sensation of his breath hot and welcome against Tweek's hole, "I fucking love your ass, I could do this for hours.

"W-why don't you," Tweek gasped, and it turned into a moan when Craig slid his hands underneath him, cupping and separating his cheeks. His tongue traced the outline of the rim, slowly at first, and then harder, quicker, and entered him. It was firm, and _weird_ like it always was, but the best weird, the complete opposite of unwelcome. It always made Tweek feel exposed, like not only his body, but his very soul was open, laid bare for the only person he had ever, and would  _ever_ , allow to see it. True to his promise, he returned a hand to the back of Craig's head, pulling his hair while he rolled his hips, grinding into his mouth, met in turn by Craig moving his head in a firm, rhythmic nod and his fingers digging even harder onto Tweek's ass. "Lick me for _hours_ w _aaaaahh_ , ha, oh fuck, while I watch TV."

Craig wrapped a hand around Tweek's length, _finally_ pumping him, quickly, recklessly, as he began to moan even more while his tongue  _fucked_  him, darting in and out, swirling against the edges of his open muscle. His eyes rolled back into his head, and it was unbelievable, unreal how much he seemed to love it, how he seemed to put everything he had into making Tweek feel amazing. "Talk to me," he raised his head to quickly gasp, before diving back in.

"Fucking -  _ohh -_ fucking... fuck me next time and cum in my ass and suck it all out," Tweek said, before he could stop himself, throwing an arm across his eyes, either out of embarrassment of his sudden reveal of such a dirty fantasy that he didn't even know he had, or to block out everything but the incredible, earth-shattering pleasure he was experiencing, or both, but what he'd said only made Craig lick harder, deeper, so he continued. He could feel the lava-hot flush of his own face against his arm. "Agh, um _Jesus,_ Craig, suck my cock with your mouth full of cum. God, make me cum, and swallow it all." He cried out, clearly and louder than ever, suddenly feeling quite vulnerable, knowing by the way he was blushing and gasping and how his toes were curling against Craig's calves that he was teetering on the brink.

"Holy fuck," Craig moaned - at least, that's what Tweek  _thought_ he heard - against his ass, and that was it, his mouth and his hands were  _everything,_ they were all that ever  _mattered,_ all Tweek ever needed and with a swirling-galaxy flash behind his eyes, Tweek came, with a cry, into Craig's hand, and when Tweek took his arm off his eyes and noticed that some of it splattered into Craig's hair, onto his _face,_ and was struck with the idea that maybe Craig had _put_ it there because Craig had pulled away and he was  _licking it_ off of his fingers, fuck if  _that_ wasn't the most amazing, hottest thing Tweek had ever seen in his life.

Tweek didn't resist when Craig's wet, swollen-red lips pressed against his own, figuring that if he was clean enough for Craig to do what he just did, Craig's mouth was clean enough to kiss, and he tasted like come, and like something sweet and earthy and incredibly intimate. Craig pulled away, resting his head against Tweek's neck, his hair sweaty and wet with come, he wrapped one arm around Tweek, pulling him close,  _so_ close, and pumped his own cock once, twice, three times before he came, shuddering and silent. He let his head fall limp, and dragged his hand upwards, trailing his own orgasm onto his heaving stomach.

They didn't clean up right away, instead laying in each others' arms, minutes passing before either spoke, their chests moving in tandem, deep breaths, their arms clutching each others' bodies like nothing but the end of the very universe could ever pull them away from each other.

"Craig?"

"Hm?" Craig's chest vibrated against Tweek's ear.

"Do you think that actress even read the book? I-it's a thing, y'know, researching the source material and getting into-"

Craig silenced him with a light, loving peck of lips to the crown of his head. "When you're famous you'll do better, baby."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [sin bin](http://rachhells-lair.tumblr.com)
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> I just can't bring myself to write shower scenes because I think they're boring; sorry not sorry if you were disappointed by the fade-to-black in the middle.


	13. day seven - crossdressing (bebe/butters)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Butters' parents pull him out of public school to keep him away from Kenny and out of trouble. The only other student from South Park Elementary who attends the institute is Bebe and, by default, they have become pretty close over the years. Are they just good friends, or something more?
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> This isn't at all explicit. It'd be rated T or M, if it was a standalone piece. This story was supposed to be Bunny, but then this just kind of... happened. Butters/Bebe, past Bunny, past Redbe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marjorine isn't trans in this story (although I do LOVE trans!Marjorine, a lot)... Butters just likes to dress up, is all.

* * *

Brother Andrew looked as if he wanted to be anywhere but in front of his twelfth-grade class. Even while he led them in the customary prayer which opened all their lessons at Park County Lasallian Institute, he seemed distant, annoyed, and vaguely hungover. Save for the probable hangover, Butters shared his sentiment. He didn’t want to be there, either. He never did.

“Saint Jean-Baptiste de la Salle-“

“Pray for us,” echoed the class - everyone, that is, except for Butters. He was gazing out the window, chin in his hand, watching two bluebirds squabbling over a worm. Outside, the harsh, unforgiving North Park winter began to gave way to piles of half-melted slush, stalks of green poking through the waning snow. Two deer scampered across the highway in front of the school, narrowly avoiding an oncoming semi-truck.

Butters wondered if Kenny was looking out his own classroom window, fifteen miles away. Was he watching the animals, too? Did South Park High even _have_ proper windows or did it have those small, borderline prison-style slats positioned at the top of the room, just large enough to let in a paltry amount of sunlight, yet not so open that they’d cause students’ minds to wander, to make them forget that they were trapped inside? Was Kenny even _there_ , or was he off skipping again? Was he smoking under the bleachers with Craig and those goth kids? Was he sleeping the day away in a house where his parents wouldn’t even bother to check if he’d gone to school in the first place? Was he scrounging the junkyards? Was he with _somebody else?_ If he was, would Butters even care? He doesn’t think he would, not anymore, he thinks he’s moved on, that-

“Live Jesus in our hearts-“

“Forever.”

“...Forever,” Butters muttered under his breath, half a second too late.

“Okay, on page fifty-eight, we explore the idea of…”

Butters shifted in his desk, trying vainly to get comfortable, the words of his teacher turning into naught but background static. His desk was never comfortable - the hard, unyielding wood dug into the bones of his skinny ass, the back was too straight, and there was nowhere to put his feet, unless he wanted John Michael to turn around and glare at him again for resting them upon the metal bar of his own seat. He pretended to take notes, instead scrawling out a drawing of a five-petal flower in the margins of his paper, then one of a girl with long, curly blonde hair, full lips parted slightly into a smile.

A piece of paper, wadded up into a ball, landed on his notebook, jerking him out of his reverie. _John Michael looks so fucking hot today omg_ the crumpled note read. He swiftly spun his head to the side where Bebe sat in the row next to him, legs crossed to the side, her skirt hiked up much shorter than their dress code standard should allow. She grinned at him with a wink, and he chewed on his lip, biting back a giggle.

 _John Michael sucks. You can do better. Even bro Andrew would be better than that neanderthal,_ he wrote back, complete with stick-figure doodle of a man passed out drunk at a desk, before scrunching up the paper and flicking it back.

She didn’t reply, instead laughed audibly enough for the entire class to hear, and tried to mask it with a fake coughing fit. Butters turned his head away, forcing himself to stare out the window once more, lest he join her in laughter. He watched the animals. He thought about his friend next to him, about her on-again-off-again thing with John Michael. He thought about Kenny.

Was he okay? When would he get to see him again? Did he _want_ to see him again? Did he mean it when he said -

“Leopold?” Brother Andrew’s voice pierced the air.

Butters jumped, face slipping from the heel of his hand. “Oh! Um. Yes, Brother Andrew?”

“Question twelve.”

“Oh golly uh…” He darted his eyes to Bebe, who looked at him with wide eyes and nodded her head at him. _You know the answer, dude, don’t look at me,_ she seemed to say. “H-hamburgers um. Fifty-eight?”

The class twittered, and Brother Andrew pinched his nose, raising his glasses toward his bushy eyebrows with a heavy exhale. “How about an answer from somebody who remembers this is _English class_ and not whatever the hell you were thinking about, Stotch,” he droned, “John Michael?”

This time, the paper was folded into an impossibly tiny square. It hit him near the corner of his bad eye, making Bebe let out a quiet snort next to him. _Do you want a ride home after school?_ Bebe’s handwriting, all open, bubbly loops and heart-dotted I‘s, took up nearly half the page.

 _Okay,_ he scribbled back, drawing a smiley face with its tongue sticking out next to the word.

 

* * *

 

 _“ONE MORE NIGHT - I PROMISE AF…”_ Butters and Bebe took a tandem, deep breath in the middle of the phrase, _“...TER THAT, I’LL LET YOU GO.”_ The radio was turned up far enough that the bass reverberated throughout the car, shaking the seats and vibrating along the floorboards. Butters collapsed into a fit of giggles from how horrible they both sounded, but Bebe continued to nod her head and jam along, grinning and driving a little bit too fast down the highway.

“Baby I don’t care if you badadaDA DA!” Bebe drummed her hands on the steering wheel, laughing as she sang, offkey, to her favorite Ariana song.

Butters grinned even harder. “Gosh, Bebe, you’d think with how often you like to bump this song, that you’d know the words,” he joked.

She did nothing but increase the volume of her sung nonsense syllables and, for the remainder of the tune, they made up their own words, as they watched the familiar surroundings of Park County, all farms and mountains and wilderness, whoosh by their windows.

Bebe asked him, softly, after a few minutes, “Do you remember that time you crashed our sleepover? Like, fourth grade or whatever?”

Butters rolled his eyes. “Aw, jeez. Yes,” he replied, reluctantly. “Why?

Bebe popped her gum. “I dunno. Just been thinking about how much fun we all used to have. What was it they called you? Marjorie?”

“Marjor _ine,_ ” he corrected with a grin.

He noticed a smile of Bebe’s own inch onto her face, and her eyes soften. “You’re better at it now,” she said.

He beamed even harder, and tried to ignore the blush on his cheeks. “Y-yeah, well, you help me out.”

A few moments passed. The radio switched over to a crooning male voice, accompanied by piano. “I miss everybody,” Bebe said, faintly.

“Me too.”

For the duration of their short journey, he leaned his head against the cool glass of the window as he thought about superheroes, and saving the world, and cootie-catchers, and smoke-scented orange parkas. About blonde wigs and green dresses, about lip gloss and over-the-knee socks hidden in the back of his closet. Of a mane of sugar-scented curly hair and tartan skirts and Dr.-Pepper-flavored chapstick, and of pushing John Michael’s gorilla hands off of Bebe’s perfect waist, and of sharp glittery nails lightly scratching his scalp.

She stopped in front of Butters’ house, where they idled for a few minutes. He never enjoyed this part of the day. Whether he was riding the smelly, loud school bus, catching a ride with Bebe, or reluctantly being driven home by John Michael or one of his other jock buddies after they took pity on his walking alongside of the highway, he never wanted to go inside. He never wanted to go home, never wanted to deal with probing questions and raised voices and false, forced declarations of love. Still, he steadied his breath, and gingerly, slowly wrapped his fingers around the door handle. “Well. Seeya,” he said weakly.

“Butters?” A neatly-manicured hand wrapping around his upper arm stopped him from exiting the car.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t you just… don’t you hate it?” Her voice was steady at first, until it wasn’t - until her words began quickly tumbling from her lips, her voice rising and and lilting into a near-panicked jumble. “Because I hate it. I hate this school, I hate my parents, I hate - _hate -_ these uniforms, I hate that fucking _John Michael_ is my best option and my parents and the school would kill me if I dated whoever I want. And,” she pursed her lips, blowing a dejected exhale through her nose, “I can’t wait until we’re done. Mother _Mary_ I can’t fucking _wait._ ”

“Oh, I dunno, your uniform is pretty darn sexy,” he said, before he could stop himself, trying to sound like he was joking.

Bebe scrunched up her face. “Ugh. It is not. If I have to wear a skirt every day, it should at least be something cute.” Her hand hadn’t moved from his arm. “Sorry my fashion sense is better than yours, Marjorie.”

He smiled. “Marjor _ine_ _,”_ he corrected her, once more, and flushed harder than ever as she squeezed his arm. “I like your uniform, I…. Can…. can I borrow it?”

“My uniform. You want to _borrow_ my uniform? Butters, I swear on my life if if this is for a sex thing like with my prom dress, I’m…” She sighed, flipping her hair. “Okay, look, I have like twelve of these skirts, so you can just have one. You’re such a little freak,” she added, with a smile. “Come to my house.”

“My dad-”

Bebe clicked her tongue. “Call your _dad_ and tell him we’re studying,” she spat, unable to mask the distaste she held for his parents.

So, he did. It wasn’t far to Bebe’s, just down the street, and  when they got into her house, she singsonged, “Hi, mom, Butters is here and we’re gonna go work on a project,” loudly. She left her loafers on the mat by the door, which Butters took as a signal to do the same, as she bound up the stairs without waiting for a response.

“She’s probably just happy I’m having a boy in my room with the door shut,” she said bitterly. As Butters flopped down on her bed, among stuffed animals and fleece throws and far too many pillows, Bebe disappeared into her walk in closet, her squeaky voice muffled as she continued to speak through the wall. “Like, my fucking mom thinks that bisexual is gay in denial or whatever and it sucks. And, like, whatever, she’s probably all messed up on Xanax and wine already, so. Whatever.”

“Your mom thinks I’m a full-blown homosexual,” Butters said. “Why, she probably knows just what we’re doin’, that you’re making me all pretty-like.”

Bebe scoffed as she exited her closet, a white button-down, plaid skirt, and a few clothing items he couldn’t quite make out bundled in her arms. She had shed her uniform for an old t-shirt and a pair of rolled-down sweatpants that hugged the curves of her hips and exposed just enough of her stomach that he had to force himself not to stare. “I thought you were too, forever,” she said, “I mean. With K-” her eyes went wide. “Sorry. I mean. I just thought you were gay for so long.”

Any other time, the mention of Kenny’s name would be like a vine of thorns twisting round his heart but, for whatever reason, he said, “It’s okay. You can talk about him. Y’know, lots of people think I’m gay. My _dad_ does a-and he says to, me, ‘I didn’t raise no homo,’ he says… Well. Isn’t that just rich, comin’ from him?”

Bebe smiled at him. “And you said, ‘Golly gee willikers, father of mine, I ain’t the one goin’ to the bathhouse! I’m just a lil bit bicurious, you know what I am saying?’” Her smile turned into peals of laughter, which Butters couldn’t help but join. “Wanna get all cute and stuff?”

He did.

 

* * *

 

“You’re so lucky you’re not very hairy. Like, if you wanted to shave and stuff you totally could and you wouldn’t even have to worry about it growing back until after a few days.  I have to shave my legs every day, would you believe that?” Bebe giggled softly. The makeup brush was minky soft upon his cheeks, like a thousand butterfly kisses, and Bebe’s hair, hanging in front of her face, between them, brushing against the other side of his face, was even softer. A noncommittal noise of affirmation came from his lips - whether it was him agreeing to her statement, or him saying yes, this is nice, you are nice, move _closer_ , he wasn’t sure.

“Is this for Kenny?” Bebe asked, “Are you guys, um, back together?” Her brow was ever so slightly furrowed, the pensive expression on her face difficult to pinpoint - disappointment? Admiration? She turned - no, very obviously _forced_ her lips into a smile as she finished painting the cupid’s bow of his mouth. She stepped away, and, after looking at him for a moment as if she were criticizing a work of art, crossed to the other side of the room. After rummaging in her drawer, she returned with a thick, velvet-coated Alice band which she placed upon his head, fluffing up his bangs so they fell over one immaculately drawn-on eyebrow. “There! Marjorine in the _house,_ ” she said, “Kenny will-”

“My parents won’t let me see him anymore,” he interrupted. He allowed himself to be pulled across the room, by his hand, and walked toward the vanity. Bebe’s hand around his was warm, delicate. “I keep telling him it’s okay. I k-keep saying that we only have to wait a couple more months and we’ll be able to be together…” Butters rubbed his lips together. The high-end gloss she supplied was slippery and soft, not sticky like the dollar-store cosmetics he hid inside his own wardrobe. Shining-gold, cat-eyed, long-lashed eyes turned downward, almost demurely. “H-he. Aw. He said he’s tired of sneaking around, and, _jeez,_ Bebe, I…” Butters inhaled, deeply. He wasn’t going to cry. He wasn’t going to be a wimp, wasn’t going to live up to how everybody perceived him, as this frail, vulnerable little being, that wasn’t _him_ . Even with his bangs swept over his forehead underneath a headband, with a face coated in makeup and schoolgirl skirt hiked up above his knees, even with fishnet thigh-highs sheathing his legs and, oh _jeez,_ a pair of silky satin underwear pressed right up against him, right _there,_ he wasn’t weak.

In fact, now, he felt stronger than he had in quite a while. He stared at himself in the mirror, starry-eyed and smiling. Beautiful. They were both beautiful, and he was strong. This was his armor. _Their_ armor. Bebe slid an arm around his waist, and despite himself, he let out a contented exhale as she pulled him closer.

“Red won’t talk to me anymore either,” said Bebe, dully, at her reflection. In the glass, their eyes met, for but a moment, and she cleared her throat, her voice once again rich with enthusiasm. “But... It’s too bad. You’d blow his socks off, you _knockout,_ you! You’re-”

Butters kissed her. Alarm bells went off in his head, screaming for him to stop, don’t _do_ this, don’t fuck this up, don’t screw up the only thing you _have_ but when, after a moment of frozen shock, Bebe moved her Dr.-Pepper-pillow lips against his, when she tilted her head up, just a fraction, their height difference hardly significant enough for her to have to stand on her toes like with _John-fucking-Michael,_ when she twisted the back hem of her own uniform’s shirt in her fist and leaned into him, when she opened her mouth against his own, it didn’t matter, nothing else mattered, nothing else ever _had_ mattered. Not drunk-ass, judgmental Brother Andrew or Bebe’s benzoed-out mom and bumbling dad, or that fucker Steven Stotch that Butters was starting to refuse to even call his own flesh and blood. Just them, their lips, their hands, their tongues, their, oh _jeez_ their bodies.

Bebe was the first to pull away. Lips shiny and full, face pink, her chest heaved with nervous, deep breaths under her oversized shirt. “You just. You… you kissed me.”

“Sorry,” he squeaked out. “Oh my god I am so, _so_ sorry, I, uh, I’ll go home and, um-” Her arm shot out to stop him from darting to the door, from running out of the Stevens’ house in full schoolgirl regalia and running he didn’t know where, to SoDoSoPa, to somewhere, some _one_ he couldn’t, didn’t want to see. And her hand was holding his, again, squeezing, like she never wanted to stop holding it, he hoped, he prayed, he _knew._

“No! Don’t go. Stay here. You look really pretty,” she whispered. Her cheeks were flushed, bright red even underneath her own layers of cosmetics. “You look… Butters? M-Marj?” Bebe’s eyes shone, almost as if they were threatening to spill. “Sit down. Stay here.”

He perched upon the edge of the bed, gingerly, confused, crossing his stockinged legs at the knees, just like Bebe had in their classroom. “I. Okay. Look here, Bebe, I’m sorry that-”

She held up a hand, silencing him. “No. _I’m_ sorry. I’m sorry about how everyone treated you, back when. I know that was a long time ago, so if that’s a stupid thing to bring up and I’m really sorry about that, too, so forget I ever…” Long, blonde hair was twirled around a stiletto-nailed finger as she exhaled, with a shudder. “I wasn’t very nice, back then, but now we’re close and I feel like after all of that bullshit all we have is _each other_ and it, this whole thing, is super fucking weird when you think about it, but…” She trailed off, looking at the ground. “You’re beautiful, and you’re really sweet, and you’re funny, and... And I’m so, so glad we’re friends.”

Unable to think of anything to say, anything that would line up with the pure, raw, honest emotion of his friend, he just stammered out, “Jeez, ah. Thanks, Bebe.”

“You kissed me,” she repeated. Butters felt himself unable to do anything but stare into her wide, blue eyes, and nod. And, against everything he thought possible, she was moving toward him, closer, sitting on the bed and her soft thigh was pressed against his skinny one and she reached out a trembling hand to stroke his hair and oh my _lord,_ oh sweet mother of god was this happening?

“Can I…” Her hands, soft, and small, impossibly dainty, traced along the expanse of skin, right above where the lace of the thigh-highs lay flush against Butters’ goose-pimpled flesh. The sharp tips of her fingernails sent a shiver-shock through his entire existence. “Can we do it again? Can we... I dunno. It was just sort of nice. We should kiss again. If you want, um. Marjorine.”

“John Michael isn’t your best option. And this isn’t for Kenny,” he said, before pulling her body flush against his own, and their lips together. And then she’d climbed on top of him, and then they moved against each other in a confusing, beautiful mix of satin and softness and hardness, of lipgloss and long hair, of sharp curves and hard angles and of nerves and confidence and it was both unknown, uncharted and scary territory, and the most _right_ anything had felt in a long, long time. He only hoped that Bebe could say the same. With her lips against his collarbone, under the unbuttoned, disheveled dress shirt, he prayed, and then later assumed, that he could. That she _did._

He was the one who stopped her from going all the way, from pulling him out of the pair of silky boyshorts she lent him, lest they both do something they’d regret. Later, maybe. Some other time, if they wanted, when they were both ready. But she still kissed him again, on the lips, soft and slow, oh, golly gee _whiz_ it was about the sweetest thing he’d ever felt. “Marj, stay for dinner? I mean. You’ll have to change back into, um. You’ll have to change, but... Do you wanna stay?”

“I wanna stay.”


	14. day five, redux - cuckolding (creek)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger warning for homophobic language** used in a sexual context.
> 
> Who would've expected Tweek to be the town bicycle? Craig's pretty into it, and lets him have his fun - but, at the end of the day, he belongs to _him._
> 
> Creek, implied Tweek/Scott Malkinson, Tweek/Token, Tweek/Kenny, Tweek/everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is reeeeal nasty. I'm sorry for what you are about to read. Everything about this is gross. Please go into this assuming that they take all necessary steps to avoid STDs and such. I didn't want to have to write a bunch of boring backstory about Tweek taking his antiviral prep, as a precaution, so he can bareback like a skank. This _is_ a porn fic, after all; suspend your disbelief.
> 
> I already did day five but a) I'm clearly not playing by the rules, here, and b) metrophobic and I had a conversation about a Creek/Clyde threeway that kinda spiraled out of control and turned into what you shall see before you; I had to get this out of my system.
> 
> I AM SO SORRY, enjoy?

 

Tweek half-expected to see Craig on the couch, waiting for him when he arrived, the television casting multicolored flickers upon his irritated face, a glare shot in his direction for coming home past one. But, save for the blue glow and calm bubbling of the fish tank in their living room, and Chloe padding toward him, letting out a tiny meow in greeting, and rubbing against his legs before scampering off to do who knows what important cat activities, it is dark, silent in their apartment. The door to their bedroom is open a crack; from it, Tweek hears Craig’s familiar, steady breathing - heavy, labored, but not quite a snore - and the rustle of the covers as he tosses and turns. Without Tweek there to wrap his arms around him, to relax him, Craig has a tendency to flail about in his sleep; then again, Tweek is the same way, if not worse. For a moment, he considers going into the bathroom, cleaning himself up, and joining Craig in bed, saying not a word about the earlier events of his evening. _No,_ he thinks, _no. This is gonna be good._

Tweek doesn’t turn the light on, not yet, at least, but he carefully unties his shoes and sets them in their allotted place in their closet, then unbuttons his shirt, and pants, and toes off his socks and, in a somewhat clumsy rush, removes them, and tosses them towards the general area of the hamper. He feels a twitch in his groin and a swell in his chest as he peels off his underwear. The short legs of his boxer briefs have soaked up some of the thick liquid dripping down his thighs; he knows, however, that some of it has to still be up there - at least, he _hopes_. He fights a sudden urge to laugh at himself, with how concerned he’s getting about something so depraved and, with a shake of his head, he steps out of his underwear, throws them wherever they’re going to end up, and pads over to Craig.

He pokes him, in the shoulder. “Wake up.” Craig turns, emitting a soft _mmmph._ He has pillow marks on his face, which, even in sleep, is set in frustrated, discontented lines. His mouth is open; a puddle of drool begins to form on his pillow. “Sweetie, wake _up_ ,” Tweek repeats, sharper, louder.

“Honey,” Craig groans, voice thick with sleep, “What?”

“Craig. Wake up. I wanna show you something,” Tweek says, making no effort to lower his voice to a whisper or murmur. Craig’s eyes flutter open, slowly. He wipes his mouth, and looks up at Tweek, dopey and glazed.

“Oh, hey. You’re naked.” The sweet, sleepy grin on his face causes Tweek to return the smile - he looks so _cute -_ and their hands brush up against each other before Craig reaches out to settle a hand upon his hip, stroking the outer contour of his ass. “Nice.”

Tweek flutters his eyes at him, coyly, which makes Craig snort out a single laugh. “I went out,” Tweek says, plainly, “I’m still wet.”

“You fucking whore.” Craig lets his hand drop. “Who was it?”

“Scott,” Tweek says, with what he hopes is a cool, smooth voice, and a careful arch of his eyebrow - not that Craig can see it very well. _Gah, should fix that._ Craig should be able to see _all_ of him. He flips on the bedside lamp, to its lowest setting; although it is but a soft, yellow glow, it is still enough light to make Craig wince.

“Oh, come _on,”_ grumbles Craig. He blinks against the sudden illumination, wiping the sleep from his eyes, and groans as he sits up. “Really. Scott Malkinson?” He grits his teeth. “Scott fucking Malkinson.”

 _“Scott fucking Malkinson,”_ mocks Tweek. He delicately perches himself onto the bed, an arms-length away from Craig. “Do you think his cum would taste sweet? From his diabetes? I bet it does. I bet you wanna just, ah, just stick your f-face down there and lick it out of me, don’t you?”

Although he is still squinting from the light interrupting his sleep, Craig’s eyes flash. “Shut the fuck up,” he says. One of his hands clenches into a tight fist, then unclenches, several times. He licks his lip, casting his stare up and down Tweek’s body.

Tweek makes a disapproving _tch_ , through his teeth. “I don’t think I will. I wanna tell you _all_ about it. Tell you all about what a dirty boy I was tonight.”

“Jesus,” Craig chokes. His lips twitch. His tongue darts out, again, to moisten them, before he rubs his lips together, slowly, seductively. “I’m not playing your game right now, Tweek.”

“Oh, please, you liar.” Tweek grins, and adjusts himself on the bed, knees-to-chest, extending a foot to prod Craig’s shin under the covers. “You love it, and you know it.”

They hold each other’s stare for several seconds. Craig’s hard glower bores into Tweek; he tries to respond in kind, hoping that the expression on his face is as animalistic and ravenous as the one he is receiving.

“Lay down,” Craig says slowly, predatorily, “Face down.”

Tweek snorts a laugh, through his nose, and tosses his hair. “Make me,” he jeers, and _those_ are the magic words. The covers are hastily shoved aside, quick and forceful enough that they are half-off the bed, and Craig is on him, forcing him, one hand twisting his arms behind his back, and the other firmly gripping his neck, as he wrestles him, face-down, onto the bed. Tweek feels a stir in his belly, and a pounding in his heart, and he thrashes back, half-strength, resisting-but-not-really because he _needs_ this, he _craves_ this. He’s going to put up a fight, sure, but he doesn’t want to win tonight. Craig’s hand leaves his neck to settle in his hair, and yanks it back, hard, making Tweek hiss and yelp. Craig presses his full weight on top of him, and his hand travels downward, slowly, fingernails digging into his skin hard enough to leave angry-pink, raised welts. Tweek wiggles his arms against Craig’s grasp, which only causes his grip to tighten.

His hand has traveled down, all the way down, and Tweek moans, shamelessly, when he applies a small, stinging slap to his ass. “Spread your legs,” says Craig. His words are threatening in their softness. “I said _spread_ your _legs,_ Tweek, are you fucking stupid?” His free hand grips an ass-cheek, bruisingly unyielding and firm. Tweek’s cock twitches against the bed.

 _“Gah!_ No, sir,” Tweek shoots back, voice dripping in sarcasm, “ _You’re_ fucking stupid.”

Craig’s lips are on Tweek’s neck; he can feel them twitch into a small smile. “Watch your mouth or I’ll slap it off you,” he states, casually, “Let’s see what he did to you. I’m gonna let your arms go. Keep them by your head, and don’t fucking move.” His cock is hard in his boxers, atop Tweek’s thigh; he lets out a small moan when he feels it throb against him.

He obeys, but tosses out a quick, “Fuck you, Craig.” His words quickly morph into a whine, as Craig is separating his cheeks apart, swiping a finger against his entrance. Despite desperately wanting to continue his charade of not wanting this as much as he does, he cannot help but wiggle against him, hoping against hope that those fingers will find their way inside, soon, _now_. Craig chuckles above him, and nips the nape of his neck.

“Not impressed,” Craig tuts, “Scott and his sad little dick could never stretch you out enough for me. You come home with him spilling out of your whore ass and you’re still so fucking _tight.”_ The pad of his forefinger moves against his hole in slow, deliberate circles. “Gotta go visit Token again. Him and Ken are the only ones who are close to big enough for my slut.” He’s grinding against his thigh, cock growing ever harder, _hotter_.

Tweek turns his head. “Token? That’s incredibly racist,” he says, flippantly, over his shoulder, “You think just because he’s black, he has a big dick? You should be ashamed of yourself, Craig.”

“Um, I…” Craig clears his throat, looking around the room in momentary confusion, before he finds himself again. “No, you stupid whore, I know Token has a big dick because he’s pounded your ass just like everyone _else_ in this town. Because you’re a fucking _tramp_ who can’t keep it in your pants. And at least _he_ had the decency to leave you nice and open for me.” Another slap punctuates his words; Tweek forces himself to stay quiet, clenching his mouth shut in a thin line when all he wants to do is _beg_ for more.

“Token fucked me better than you ever could,” Tweek squeaks out, “Shit, _Scott_ fucked me better than you.” Craig doesn’t counter his movements when Tweek pushes himself up on his elbows, resting his head in his hands, and casting a judging smirk at his husband.

Craig raises his brow, for a moment. “I told you not to move,” he says, cautiously, but still does not stop Tweek when he rises. He gulps when Tweek puts a hand on his shoulder, pushing him onto the pillows. Craig’s skin is hot and soft against Tweek’s hands as he runs his touch up his thigh, to his hips - pointedly ignoring his hardness - to the taut muscles of his chest, and finally to his jaw. When he tilts his head up, with a finger, Craig sighs, and Tweek makes his move to straddle him, over one leg, pressing his thigh against the straining bulge between his legs.

Craig’s hips thrust upwards, his body quivers, when Tweek kisses his neck. “Filled me up so good. And, _ngh,_ he was so _slow_ and _gentle_ .” He bites his earlobe; Craig keens. “Til I told him to do whatever he wanted. So, he called me a dirty faggot cocksucker - just like _you_ are, sweetie,” he adds, lightly, placing a cheeky, chaste kiss on Craig’s lips, but pulling away before it can be deepened. Craig’s moan is high-pitched, almost mournful from the loss of contact, from the words. They’re grinding into each other harder yet. “And he spanked my ass and, fuck, _god_ Craig, I _loved_ it _._ He fucked me so hard.”

Scott _had_ been, quite surprisingly, a freak, Tweek thinks to himself with a half-smile; so what if he hadn’t said those _exact_ things - they were heavily implied, at least, and Tweek knows that is the precise combination of awful, derogatory words that get Craig incredibly turned-on. _Freakin’ weirdo,_ he thinks, his smile widening. A little embellishment is just fine.

“ _Fuck_ , oh god, baby…” Craig’s eyes crinkle shut, his head tosses back, and his hands travel up and down Tweek’s back, not in chafing scratches, but in sensual, soft rubs. He stops to knead his hands into Tweek’s ass, then grabs him by the hips, rocking their bodies together. “Shut up,” he keens, and their mouths meet, in a dizzying, sloppy kiss. Both moan, voraciously, into each other’s mouths at the contact; Tweek shifts so that their cocks align, and, for a moment, he contemplates ripping off Craig’s underpants because that thin strip of cloth between them feels like a horrible, intrusive barrier, he wants to _feel_ Craig against him, all of him, but _god_ is he enjoying the teasing, the anticipation, even more.

Tweek is panting against his ear when they pull away. “It felt _so_ good, Craig, having him _breed_ me,” he hisses, and sits back, onto Craig’s thigh, slowly sliding his hand down the front of his underwear. Craig’s leaking; Tweek swipes his finger across the head, and then into his mouth, letting out a dramatic moan when the salty liquid hits his tongue. “Coming so, hnng, so _deep_ inside me.”

He delves back in, quickly, and Craig groans, uninhibited, with Tweek’s hand around his cock, slowly teasing up and down, circling his thumb around the head. “I. I said shut up,” he repeats, in a whine.

“Jesus, man, you’re so pathetic. Why do you think I do this?” Craig follows his lead when he places a hand on his hips, guiding them upward, and slides off those terrible, constrictive boxers. “Because you’re - ngh _-_ you’re never _good enough_ .” His strokes become firmer, harder, longer. Craig is shaking, gripping the sheets as if for dear life; his cheeks are red with arousal, embarrassment, both. On his face is a curious mix of awestruck, shamed want, and pure, seething anger. It’s fucking _amazing._ Tweek wants to be _wrecked_. “You’ve got this huge cock between your legs but no idea how to use it, isn’t that right?”

Craig growls - really _growls,_ like an animal, as he thrusts into Tweek’s hand. “Fuck you.”

“Fuck _you?”_ He laughs. “It’s not even gonna be worth it. I’m gonna go watch TV.”

Craig lets out a stuttered sound of protest when Tweek releases his cock and rises to his feet, chuckling as he tosses a sultry glare behind his shoulder while he leaves the room. Craig’s eyes shoot daggers at him, but he continues on his way. _Ten minutes, max_ , he thinks to himself. If Craig wouldn’t come tearing out of their room, eyes blazing and jaw clenched, he’d know that he won, and he would go back into the bedroom, and show Craig who was boss - it was how they always did it, one way or another. He resists the temptation to pump his hand around his cock, which, despite Tweek getting fucked, and blown, and _used_ not even two hours ago, is full-mast, pre-come oozing from the tip.

Settling for just gripping it, loosely, he plops down on their leather couch and turns on the television, neither caring what channel it is on, nor bothering to turn up the volume past a mere buzz. Chloe is staring at him from atop the bookcase, swishing her tail. He glares at her. “Listen, you,” he says, as if she understands, “D-don’t sit there and stare at us this time. It’s creepy.” Her ear twitches, and she blinks at him, slowly. “Ugh. Whatever. Have it your way, you fucking perv.” She flicks her tail against a bookend, but does not move. It is a bit chilly in there, he decides, so he wraps a throw around his shoulders, and taps his foot as he disinterestedly watches the Chipotlaway infomercial that flickers across the screen. The new spokesman isn’t as good as Billy Mays, but he’s kinda cute, at the very least.

He’s examining his fingernails when their bedroom door creaks, and slams against the wall. “Oh _hell_ yes,” he whispers to himself, with a grin, and clicks off the television. It is merely a few strides from their bedroom to the living room, and, before he knows it, the blanket is ripped from his shoulders and he is pinned against the back of the couch, Craig’s fingernails digging into his wrists, his bare chest warm, heavy, against Tweek’s own as he presses the weight of his body into him. Each thrash, each deliberate, resisting spasm, each wrench of his wrists is offset by Craig slamming his hands back, or crashing their pelvises together - Tweek realizes with a shudder that he’s naked, that he’s, _Fucking Christ,_ he’s lubed himself up, when their erections rub flush against each other - or biting his neck, with that same raw, ravenous growl.

“You,” Craig rumbles, smooth and dangerously low. His brows are heavy above his eyes, which are narrowed into blazing slits. Ragged breaths through his open mouth cause his chest to heave. “You are a dirty slut.” It’s so matter-of-fact, how he says it, that Tweek bites back a giggle.

Tweek puts up just enough of a fight that Craig has to try, harder than he likely wants, to secure both his wrists into one hand. “Tell me something I don’t know,” he says, yelping when Craig hoists his hips up like he weighs hardly anything, and slides him to the edge of the couch. Two fingers stretch him open, near-effortlessly, aided by the slick already inside him, massaging him, as their lips and tongues collide in a searing, hungry kiss. Tweek begs as best as he can with Craig’s tongue in his mouth, through high-pitched mewls and whines, when he takes his fingers out, trying to tell him no, _no, please, more._

Craig pulls away with a nip to Tweek’s lower lip. The same fingers that were, just a moment ago, inside of him press against his lips; he clenches his jaw, resisting. _God, Craig, you’re so fucking gross,_ he thinks, with a shiver, and a jerk of his hips when he realizes it means _he_ is, too, because he _will,_ he’ll do it, if Craig asks.

“Taste it,” he says. Tweek shakes his head, glaring at Craig through heavy-lidded eyes. “Do it. Lick it off me. You like walking around with another guy’s jizz in your ass so much, you’re gonna deal with the consequences,” he drones; the way he sounds like he’s bored, like he barely _cares_ makes Tweek _want_ to do it, want to please him. _I’m a good boy, aren’t I?_ He wants to hear it, tonight. Wants to earn it. He obeys.

It’s not that it’s _good._ It isn’t; it’s totally weird, but doesn’t taste much different than any _other_ load that _hasn’t_ been inside of him. It is not the act itself he’s enjoying, but Craig’s face. His eyes are wide, blown in utter, hedonistic pleasure; his mouth open, panting as he darts his tongue in and out, in small laps, upon his lower lip. He moans as Tweek closes his mouth around his digits to swirl his tongue against them, and shoves his hand in, farther, only stopping when Tweek chokes.

“ _Ah,_ hah. Kiss me?” Tweek sputters, and Craig does, his roughness broken by momentary tenderness as Tweek is pulled into his arms. Craig kisses with a hint of suction, as if to suck out what sloppy seconds may remain in his mouth. Long fingers burrow into Tweek’s hair, tilting his head so Craig can go deeper.

“Get on your hands and knees,” Craig says, hoarsely. The hand in Tweek’s hair yanks, then releases, with a shove.

“God, you’re disgusting,” Tweek says, as he positions himself. He’s trying to sound casual, taunting, but knows he doesn’t; he knows it’s coming out in a ragged gasp. “I know you wanted to felch it out; you, fuck, hng, you _always_ do. Y-you’re a bigger whore than I am. You love eating - mmmmph!” His palm is on Tweek’s mouth, his other hand slaps his ass, softly, on one cheek, then another, and then _harder_ and _god, fuck, yes_ , Tweek’s cock _aches._ He wants to touch it. He can’t touch it, Craig won’t like it. He wants to be good, now.

“That is _enough_ out of you.” Tweek licks his hand, which earns him another piercing slap. “I’m too _nice_ to you. I’m always too. _Fucking. Nice._ ” Each word is emphasized by increasingly harsh smacks. Tweek’s eyes flutter shut.

“Who do you belong to?” Craig asks, removing the hand over Tweek’s mouth, seizing his hips as to line himself up, his cock leaking and slick and _fuck_ incredibly _fucking_ hard against Tweek’s crack. Craig won’t like it if he wiggles against it. He stills himself.

“You,” Tweek whispers.

“Whose slut are you?” Craig’s breath hitches while he enters him. Tweek keens. He _lied,_ nobody could do this better, nobody ever-ever- _ever_ could, and he allows himself to grind against Craig’s cock, buried inside him to the hilt. Another slap, and Craig is yanking his head backwards, by the hair. “ _No,_ ” he growls, “You stay _still._ Tell me. Whose slut are you, Tweek?”

 _“Hnng,_ oh, f-fuck, _yours.”_ He can barely get it out, because Craig is moving, violently bucking into him, brushing against him _there-right-there_ _oh fucking_ god _please_.

“My _what.”_

“Slut,” Tweek repeats, shrill and desperate.

“Why are we a slut?” Craig shoves his face into the couch cushions, by his hair, and it _hurts,_ he’s pulling too hard but it is the kind of hurt that makes his legs tingle and toes curl and cock twitch, and with him _inside,_ it’s better, it’s great, maybe it doesn’t _hurt_ at all, maybe it’s just exactly what it should be. Exactly where he belongs.

“Because - _nnngh_ , _yeah_ \- b-because I let other men fuck me and come inside me a-and use me like I’m, _Jesus, hnnng,_ like I’m a sex toy,” he, somehow, manages to babble.

 _“Nice,_ ” breathes Craig, “Yeah. That’s what you are.” His thrusts are slower, stuttering, but somehow deeper, more sensual, almost romantic, like they’re making love, and Tweek supposes they _are,_ really, in their own way.

“ _Nnnngh,_ god, yes sir.”

“They can borrow you, but you’re _my_ fuck toy.” They’re back-to-chest, Craig’s full body weight pressing him into the couch, one hand still in his hair and the other wrapped, loosely, around his neck.

“Oh _fuck,”_ moans Tweek, "Yes, sir."

“Who fucks you better than any, _anyone_ else?” Craig’s mouth against his ear is hot and wet.

 _“You,_ sir.”

“Good boy,” he says, with a kiss to his temple; that’s what finally makes Tweek cry out, piercing the air with a sobbing groan.

“Say it again,” he begs.

“Good, _good_ boy,” he repeats, rolling his hips, “My good boy, my _unh,_ god, my…” He licks Tweek’s ear. “I wanna come.”

“Show me I’m a good boy.” He knows how pitiful he sounds, he _knows,_ and he doesn’t care, not one bit. He reaches behind to grasp at Craig’s hips, digging in his nails. Craig doesn’t stop him, doesn’t slap him, when he grinds up. “Come for your good boy, come in me _please_ Craig.”

“Only sluts get it inside,” Craig gasps, “Good boys get it in their mouth. Get on your knees.”

It is a rush to re-position themselves, Craig looming over him, and it’s only a few brief, yet thorough tugs of his own hardness before Craig’s hand is in his hair, again, and the velvet heaviness of his swollen cock is between his lips. Craig comes, tossing his head back, babbling, “I, _oh_ , fuck Tweek, baby I, _fuck,_ ” and he swallows it all, _all_ of it because he wants to be _good_ , because he _is_ good and it’s okay that he’s touching himself, that he spits on his own hand and looks up at Craig, looks into his wide steely blue eyes and pumps himself quick quick _quick_ and screws his eyes shut and sees static-stars explode behind his eyelids and feels Craig stroking his hair as he comes, shuddering.

Craig helps him to his feet. They kiss, and hug, and collapse, side-by-side, entwined, spent.

“Wow. That was great,” Craig says, nuzzling his hair.

“Yeah, I…” Tweek’s shoulders tense. Mother _fucker._  He forgot. He cannot _believe_ he forgot about the pair of eyes that was boring into the both of them, during the entire thing, keeping inventory of the sins of her owners. She will be sure to use it as blackmail. There will be shredded tissues on their floor, or something unpleasant in his shoes, or… _gah,_ fucking _cat!_

Craig seems to sense his tension. “Babe? You ok?”

“Craig,” Tweek whispers. Chloe’s eyes are narrowed, glowing in the dim light of their living room. She yawns, and flips her tail. It’s like she’s looking directly at Tweek. _Shaming_ him. _“Craig.”_

Craig’s kiss upon his temple is a soft caress. “Hmm? What’s wrong?”

“Hhhnnn, the fucking _cat,_ man!” He locks eyes with Chloe. _I told you that you were a creep,_ he thinks, hoping there’s some kind of human-cat telepathy at play which will get his message across.

Craig lifts an eyebrow as he glances at Chloe, who regards him with disinterest. “Oh my god, Tweek, she doesn’t even know-“

“She was _judging_ us the entire time and you know it!” With a _brrrt_ , Chole jumps down from the bookcase, scampering into the kitchen. “Oh sure, _now_ you leave, asshole.”

“Honey,” Craig chuckles, “Just please tell me you enjoyed yourself. I want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Yes. Yes of _course_ I’m okay, Craig, that’s not the…” He takes a deep breath. Ruining the moment is his specialty, and he does not want it to happen tonight. “That was, heh, it _was_ good. That was _so_ good. Ease up on the hair next time, though, man! You’re gonna make me go bald!”

“Sorry, baby. Are you alright?” Craig squeezes his shoulder

“Yeah. _S-shit,_ though, I’m not gonna be able to look Mrs. Simonson in the eyes ever again, though! Gah! I bet she heard everything, _ack_!”

Craig chuckles. “Yeah, well. Wouldn’t be the first time. She told me the other day how special it is that we seem to keep our romance alive,” he drones.

“ _Waghh!_ Gross, dude, she’s like eighty.” Tweek’s head jerks in an involuntary twitch. “Are _you_ okay?”

“Yeah. Wanna take a shower?”

“ _Ngh,_ yes! I feel so gross! I gotta brush my teeth, man, I gotta.”

“You love it,” teases Craig, with another kiss

 _“You_ love it,” Tweek snaps back.

“I really,” he kisses Tweek on the neck, “Really,” and on the cheek, “Really do.”

The living room is as still as it was when Tweek arrived. Their afterglow gives even their modest apartment a sense of serenity. Tweek smiles to himself, softly. This is home. “Hey, man, you should text Scott and tell him thank you,” he says, “He, he was totally cool about everything.”

“Sure thing. You gonna have him again? Seems like you guys had fun.”

“Yeah, if he keeps up with getting tested.” There’s a nervous edge he can’t quite quell, creeping into his speech. “I don’t wanna catch anything!”

“We’re being as safe as we can, babe.” Craig reassures him, like always, with a kiss and a pat and his boring, comforting, lovely Craig-voice and Tweek is fine, he’s fine, he’s _totally_ fine.

“I, agh, I still get a little nervous after, yknow? A little… Ashamed? N-not that it’s like a _bad_ ashamed, just…” He gestures, vaguely, with a small shrug. “You know, man?”

“Shouldn’t be nervous. We only play with people we trust and each other, and we never raw-dog with Kenny,” Craig says, adamantly and practiced, like he’s reading a motto or slogan. He pets Tweek’s hair before rising from the couch, Tweek following suit; together, and without covering up a single part of their bodies, the two saunter down the hallway to their bathroom. “Y’know, I almost let you win tonight.” He twists on the shower, shuts the door.

“I - _hng -_ I could tell! Your ass would’ve been mine,” he says, grinning, placing a short peck of a kiss to the tip of Craig’s nose. "You... you woulda been down there licking it out like I  _said."_

Craig chuckles, and pulls him into a close, warm embrace. Their bathroom begins to fill with steam. “I’m always yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be like Tweek and Craig; they naaaasty. Use a condom, friends. Don't go ass-to-mouth.


	15. day eight - deep-throating (crenny)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kenny fucked around with Tweek, and thinks Craig is gonna kick his ass. Craig has other plans.
> 
> Crenny, off-screen Twenny, off-screen Creek, implied Clenny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to the anon on tumblr who requested a Crenny chapter.... here ya go! <3
> 
> It's funny that I complain about a lot of Crenny fics being them smoking cigarettes, fucking, and acting like edgelords... and then proceed to write exactly that.

It is an ash-grey, windy Wednesday afternoon, five minutes into their lunch hour, when Craig approaches him.

Kenny never favors smoking in the unofficially-official smoking area of the side entrance to Park County high, by the band room, especially when the sky is like this. On a day like today, the goth kids would surely be in fine form, basking in the dreariness of the weather, playing Bauhaus from tinny phone speakers and exchanging heavy sighs between exhales of pungent clove; and, those douchebags that Stan and Kyle have been hanging with lately would be nearby, sucking on vapes and flaunting their new beanies or some shit. He instead leans against the rickety metal of the sports equipment shed, behind the football field, far enough away from security guards with nothing better to do and from self-righteous goths and pretentious hipsters that Kenny feels as if he can truly relax. An unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth, he is distracted by a branch on a gnarled, dying tree situated where the school grounds end and the woods begin. It is hanging by a piece of bark, smacking against the tree trunk with each gust of wind. He waits for it to snap, but the break never comes.

The crunch of snow underneath sure footfalls interrupts his reverie, and he snaps his head to the side quickly enough that the hood of his parka almost falls off. Of course, of _fucking_ course, it’s one of the last people he wanted to run into today. Craig, with his stupid blue chullo and fleece with sleeves that are only just too short. Craig, with his typical shitty posture - hunched shoulders, like he’s trying to look like less of a gangly giraffe freak, only draw more attention to his height - and his long, bony neck with that prominent Adam’s apple that somehow, Kenny thinks, is oddly alluring. Fucking _Craig._ He ambles toward Kenny, slapping a box of American Spirits against the heel of his hand.

He settles a mere foot from Kenny, back propped against the wall, glaring in the direction of the woods. With either a blank or angry expression - it’s always difficult to tell which, with him - he fumbles around in his pockets for a lighter, letting out a grunt when he comes up with nothing.

“You ok?” Kenny asks, extending his lighter in Craig’s direction; he takes it, cupping his hand over the flame as he lights his smoke.

Craig nods, unsmiling, unspeaking. His cheeks hollow out around his cigarette as he takes a drag, and Kenny can’t help but feel a tinge of shame, reminded of the last time he was here with another person.

“How’d you know I was here?” he asks.

It is then that Craig looks at him, dull blue eyes casting an up-and-down, judgmental glance. “Tweek.”

“Shit. Uh, Craig, okay…” That’s what he was afraid of. Even though Tweek maintained that Craig wouldn’t be upset, the threat of this moment, when he’d be confronted about what transpired in that very spot, just three days ago, has been hovering around him like a demon on his shoulder ever since Tweek zipped up his pants and Kenny rose to his feet. “Don’t be-“

“So, is it true you fuck whoever asks you?” Craig doesn’t seem terribly angry, which Kenny finds curious. It’s as if he’s trying to sound casual, flippant even. And, it’s probably wishful thinking on Kenny’s end that there’s a note of husky desire underneath it all. Could be rage, maybe. But _definitely_ not desire.

“Slow your roll, Tucker,” Kenny tries to joke, to derail,  “Buy a guy a meal first, shit.”

“Yeah… that kinda sounded better in my head.”

“I’ll bet.”

Both boys exhale tendrils of grey smoke, simultaneously. The way Craig taps his cigarette filter with his forefinger, to rid it of excess ash, is strangely elegant. “Is it?” he asks, “True?”

“Please,” snorts Kenny. He flicks the end of his smoke with his thumb. “I have taste. But… not like I’m gonna say no to a nice pair of tits. A good pair of tits covers all manner of sins. She can be two-bag ugly and a real pain in the ass to be around, but if she’s got it where it counts? Don’t matter for a night or three. Y’know?” The words come out like vomit, before he can stop himself. He sounds like an idiot, a white trash stereotype, and he tries to hide his internal cringing with a forced smile. At the very least, this unfortunate turn of phrase may steer the topic of conversation away from Tweek.

“Yeah, nope, wouldn’t know. Hard pass on the tits for me,” Craig drones.

“More for me, then.”

“That’s kind of terrible, by the way, what you said. You sounded like some old pervert who tries to pick up girls at Skeeters.”

Kenny grins, in earnest, happy that his effort to postpone getting his ass kicked by all six-four of Craig appears to be working. It isn’t that he wouldn’t be able to hold his own in a fight, nor is he afraid of being hurt. After all, it isn’t as if he’s a stranger to worse injuries than getting beat up by a lanky nerd, but it’d be an inconvenience that he just does not want to deal with, not today.

“I’m not a piece of shit who leads people on,” he says, “Negotiation, my friend. Negotiation. Not all ladies want a relationship. Or dudes. Or well... Not all _people_ want a relationship.”

“Yeah, well, Clyde said-“

“Don’t bring him up. Clyde doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” _Fucking not today,_ he thinks, again. He grinds his cigarette out underneath the heel of his boot. There has to be a nail, or a rock, or something stuck in the treads with how it makes the kind of nails-on-a-chalkboard sound against the pavement that sets one’s teeth on edge. Kenny doesn’t pay it much mind, beyond a mental note to look at it later, but Craig grimaces.

“Whatever, sorry.” He holds out his open cigarette pack to Kenny, who, with narrowed eyes and growing suspicion, takes one. It isn’t at all like Craig to be so generous. _Something is going on. Something weird,_ he thinks.

Craig exhales, heavily, and uses the end of his lit cigarette to light another. Was he _stressed?_   Nervous? Did Craig Tucker even _get_ nervous? His hands tremble, just a little bit, before he clears his throat. “Do you think you can want to be in a relationship with just one person, but still want to try other... Stuff. People.”

And, there, it is. Some roundabout way of baiting Kenny into a fight, or at least guilting him into apologizing, or _something_ , and Kenny doesn’t have time for this shit. “Ya know something, I really don’t get why everyone is always coming to me with this shit,” he snaps, “I’m not Doctor fuckin’ Phil, I don’t know, so if you’re here to kick my ass for givin’ your boyfriend a blowie, can we just get it over with?”

What Craig says next, the way he tilts his head toward him, and stares down at him as his lip curls into a half-smile, nearly knocks the wind out of Kenny. “I wasn’t mad,” Craig states, simply, calmly, “He was curious.” He blows a puff of smoke at Kenny.

“Curious, huh?” He cocks an eyebrow. _You coming on to me, Tucker?_   he thinks, and he realizes that Craig has shifted, is leaning against the shed on his elbow, hand that isn’t busy with his cigarette resting on his hip.

“Yeah. About what someone else would be like.” Craig raises his brows right back. _I totally am,_ his expression seems to say. He licks his lips, after exhaling, slowly, dragging out his tongue sweeping across his lower lip, which he then sucks into his mouth, much longer than simply moistening his lips would take. Kenny stares, he can’t _stop_ staring because, damn, Craig has a nice mouth - neither too full, nor too thin. Wouldn’t really be out of place on a chick, when Kenny thinks about it… not that he’d _want_ Craig to be a chick, if they were going to do things. Craig’s hot. He may be a jerkass, and a weirdo dork, but damn if he isn’t nice to look at.

Kenny turns, too. He nudges Craig in the chest, and allows his hand to linger for a second. Shit, why was he ever worried about Tucker kicking his ass? Guy is skinny as fuck - there’s no way his thin t-shirt, even underneath his layers of fleece and coat, can provide nearly enough warmth in that gusty wind. “Aren’t you like… his keeper?”

“No. I’m his boyfriend. Tweek is his own person.” He inches closer still, and, without asking, without his expression changing, flips down the hood of Kenny’s parka. “I wasn’t mad,” he repeats.

“Then tell me why you’re asking me all this shit,” says Kenny. Craig’s got a good eight, fuck, maybe even ten inches of height on him, and, since he’s moved, again, since he’s bracing himself against the shed with an outstretched arm, looming over Kenny, who feels trapped in the best possible way by this sudden, strange turn of events, he has to tip his head back to lock eyes with Craig.

When he does, Craig smiles - no, not a smile, more of a baring of teeth. “Why do you think,” he murmurs. Although his hand is cold on Kenny’s skin, when he puts his cigarette back in his mouth and, momentarily, reaches out to run the pad of his thumb along Kenny’s jaw, it still causes a surge of heat in the pit of Kenny’s stomach. He notices that, despite Craig’s unreadable expression, his hands are still trembling.

“I sucked Tweek’s dick like twenty feet from here,” drawls Kenny, trying to keep his voice from cracking.

“I know.”

“And you’re really not mad.”

“Nope.”

“You’re fucking with me.”

“Not _yet,”_ says Craig, his monotone finally taking on a sultry edge of want, “Maybe I’m just curious, too.”

“What’s in it for me?” _Fuck it_ , Kenny thinks, and pulls Craig in with a grab of his protruding hipbone. Craig doesn’t kiss him, but he _does_ tip his head down, press his face against Kenny’s hair, and let out a barely-perceptible, contented sigh.

“Exactly the same thing that’s in it for me,” Craig says, all low, rumbling voice and hot breath against Kenny’s ear. He grinds his cigarette out on the wall, next to Kenny’s head. Orange sparks are swiftly extinguished by the dampness of melted snowflakes on his parka’s shoulder. Kenny doesn’t flinch - it isn’t as if fiery embers faze him. His fingers tangle in Kenny’s mess of hair, not pulling, just holding, then stroking. His nails are longer than Kenny expected.

Their hips meet before their lips do. Craig has to bend his knees, and Kenny has to angle up his pelvis in order for everything to line up, but when it does, _holy shit._ Craig’s hard, and he’s hung; he can feel that through Craig’s jeans, when Craig backs him against the wall, fully, rolls his hips, and laps his tongue against Kenny’s neck. “You know something, I thought your boyfriend’s dick would be smaller,” Kenny teases, gasping.

“You're trying to piss me off.” Craig’s eyes are like the calm before a storm. Kenny doesn’t want to look away.

“Is it working?”

He blinks, slow in a way that reminds Kenny of a cat, showing its trust. “No.” And Craig, that _stupid_ fucking jerk Craig, without another word, plucks the cigarette out of Kenny’s mouth, and tosses it over his shoulder. Kenny is too surprised, too turned on to protest.

Craig’s eyes flutter shut before he cradles Kenny’s jaw, and bends down to close what gap remains between them. Underneath his layer of tingly, mentholated Carmex, Craig’s lips are chapped; and, he probably tastes of cigarettes, but so does Kenny, so he doesn’t care. His kiss isn’t harsh or probing or instantly passionate, but tentative, softer and much sweeter than anyone would expect from the likes of Craig. Kenny’s the one who has to deepen the the kiss, swirling his tongue around Craig’s own, sucking on his lower lip, taking it between his teeth. Craig whimpers into Kenny’s mouth when he does this, and bucks his hips; his grip on the small of Kenny’s back, right above his ass, tightens, and he pulls him in like he wants more. _Jackpot,_ thinks Kenny. He does it again. And again. And each time he does it, Craig lets out that _sound_ , and moves his hand to rub Kenny’s back, to stroke his hair, to palm his growing hardness softly, almost shyly, over his jeans.

Kenny pulls away, taking Craig’s lower lip with him as far as he can. Craig honest-to-god _moans_ and fuck, it’s hot. _Craig_ moaning is hot. _What is even happening right now,_ Kenny thinks, but his momentary confusion, or trepidation, or _whatever_ the fuck it is, is halted when Craig rubs him, and reaches toward the button of his jeans. Craig hesitates, gazing down at Kenny as if to ask permission. “You’re really gentle,” Kenny says, unable to keep the surprise from creeping into his voice.

“That a problem?” mutters Craig.

“Tweek wasn’t.”

“Good,” Craig scoffs. He moves to squeeze Kenny’s erection, purposefully this time, before popping open the button of his fly. “Lemme suck you off?”

Kenny smiles at him. “Don’t have to ask me twice.”

It’s all the permission Craig needs to drop down to his knees, without any hesitation.

He takes Kenny out of his boxers and into his hand swiftly and purposefully, not like he’s trying to get it over with, but like he means business. It’s chilly out, so Kenny is thankful when, after a few experimental licks to the head of his cock that make Kenny toss his head back with a gasp, Craig grips him at the base and takes him into his mouth in one fell swoop and _Christ,_ Tucker can suck dick. He’s swirling his tongue around the head, pumping his hand in time with his mouth and seemingly doing a thousand different, dizzying things at once, until he takes his hand away, and lowers his mouth down to the hilt.

“Fuck,” Kenny moans. Craig makes a weird sound that almost sounds like a laugh, a taunt, around him. Tucker _would_ be the kind of person to still act like an asshole even with a mouthful of cock. He wraps his hands around Kenny’s thighs, steadying himself, so he’s able to bob his up and down, all the fucking _way_ down _good Lord._

The only time Craig makes a noise remotely resembling objection is when Kenny grabs his chullo by its puffball and tosses it on the pavement - not when Kenny buries his hand in Craig’s hair, and not when he dares to make a sudden thrust into the back of his mouth, enough to make Craig cough, choke, just a little. Craig, in fact, seems to _like_ it. He tightens his grip on the back of Kenny’s thighs, and he is sure that, were he not wearing jeans, Craig’s fingernails would leave tiny indents in his skin. He wants more, wants to do it again, _again,_ to feel the tight contraction of Craig’s throat around the head of his cock.

He thrusts again. This time, Craig is ready, and emits a muffled moan around him. _Holy fuck, he’s actually into it._

“Fuckin’ a, you’re good at this,” gasps Kenny.

Craig pulls himself off of Kenny’s cock with a pop, prolonging the swirl of his tongue upon the junction where shaft ends and head begins like it’s taking great mental effort on his part to stop sucking. Kenny doesn’t want him to, he wants nothing but to feel the hot velvet wetness of Craig’s mouth all around him, not the cold mountain air. He groans at the loss of contact, discontented. Craig must have picked up on it - he sniggers. _Asshole._

“You can fuck my mouth if you want,” Craig says, lazily, “Tweek does it all the time.”

“You don’t fuckin’ say,” Kenny says, “That’d explain why he almost killed me with his dick.”

“Not his fault you couldn’t handle it like I can,” snips Craig. Kenny wants to wipe that self-satisfied look right the fuck off of his face.

“Shut up, Tucker,” Kenny states; and, with one hand gripping the base of his cock, and another secure on Craig’s hair, he rubs himself against Craig’s smug smile. “Suck my fuckin’ dick,” he mutters, and even though it’s some kinda cheesy porno line that he expects will elicit monotone snark, Craig complies.

There were lord knows how many chicks, and a few dudes, who had been exactly where Craig is right now, but, _fuck,_ nobody compared. This was on another _level._ If Kenny were any bigger, Craig would probably be a choking, blubbering wreck, and Kenny wonders if that’s how it is when Craig does this to his boyfriend - if the reflexive tears in the corners of his eyes would well up and trail down his cheeks, if his face would be a mess of snot and drool even _more_ than it is right now. As it is, he’s whimpering around Kenny’s dick, which seems to fit fucking _perfectly_ in his mouth, just enough to hit the middle of his throat, and thick enough that Kenny at least _hopes_ it isn’t too comfortable for Craig to have his jaw open for that long. Every time Kenny pulls away to give Craig some air - for but a moment - Craig gasps through swollen lips and allows thick strands of saliva to dribble out of his mouth. When Craig glances up at him, through cloudy, hooded eyes, Kenny’s toes curl in his boots.

“Dude, gonna come,” Kenny stammers, shaky, as a warning for Craig to pull away, to swat his hand out of his hair and roll his eyes as Kenny spills himself on the pavement.

But, it is a warning that Craig, thank _fuck,_ does not care to heed. “Mmhmm,” he hums, muffled but high-pitched, wanting, nodding as best as anyone with a dick shoved down their throat can nod. He just keeps going, like he’s trying to suck Kenny’s poor excuse for a soul out through the head of his cock. The vibrations, and the way Craig seems to _want_ Kenny to come in his mouth, bring him closer yet, make him shake, and grit his teeth to hold back his moan, but what does him in is that, when he looks down, Craig’s pants are open. He’s methodically stroking his fucking _perfect_ cock, thrusting his hips into his fist, as if the mere act of sucking dick is enough of a turn-on that he cannot hold himself back.

Craig doesn’t flinch when Kenny holds his head down, coming with a guttural groan, into his mouth. He stares at Kenny the entire time, and, after he pulls out, gasping, the fucker _smirks_ at him as he swallows.

“Hey, c’mere and jerk me off,” Craig utters, hoarsely, after wiping his mouth.

Kenny tucks himself back into his pants, and sinks onto the pavement. Craig wraps his arms around him, all his typical, cool and collected self dissolving, burying his watery-eyed face into Kenny’s neck. It’s almost _sweet,_ which is fucking weird, the way Craig kisses his neck and clutches his parka and mewls as Kenny pumps him.

“You’re so big,” Kenny whispers, returning Craig’s kiss to the skin behind his ear. The kiss turns into a nibble, which then turns into a full on _bite_ and Craig, he’s moaning and grasping and, wordlessly, pleading. “Gonna fuck your ass next time,” he continues, “Fuck you right against the wall.”

It seemed like the kind of thing the other boy would like to hear, and he smiles, softly, when it’s obvious that it _worked._ Craig whimpers against him, twitching, thrusting his hips up, coming hard and thick into his hand with a soft, low, “Please.” He lets his head fall back against the sheet metal wall, eyes cast skyward, panting, shaking. Kenny wipes his hand on the shed as best he can, and, delicately, helps Craig zip himself up.

“Thanks, man. That was pretty cool,” Kenny says, shooting another smile at Craig. But, he’s staring ahead again, looking at the woods with furrowed brows.

“I feel sorta bad,” he states.

 _Oh, come on, really?_ “What!” exclaims Kenny, elbowing craig in the side, “Tweek wouldn’t be pissed about this, not after…Really, dude?”

“Not Tweek.” Craig locates his hat, and shoves it back on his head. His shoulders square themselves a bit, his posture adjusts from horrible to just plain shitty as soon as the hat covers his hair, as if he’s putting on a persona.

“What are you on about?”

“You _know_ that Clyde’s really into you. He’d kill me if he found out I did this. Smoke?” Kenny accepts, once more, a cigarette from Craig. It isn’t often that he gets to smoke the expensive ones. “Actually, I bet he’d just cry. I never know what to do when he cries.” Craig lights his cigarette with a shrug.

“Did you pocket my fucking lighter?” Kenny shoots him a glare. “And Clyde isn’t my boyfriend, so lucky you,” he spits, lighting his cigarette, making sure to tuck his lighter into his parka.

“He likes you a lot, asshole. Quit fucking with him. He’s not like me and Tweek.”

Kenny sneers, rolling his eyes. Couldn’t this just be a hookup? Did they _have_ to discuss the minutiae of their respective love lives, _then?_ “Since when did our lives turn into some cheesy, gay-ass teen drama? This is South Park, not fuckin’ Riverdale.”

Craig chuckles. “Dude, trust me, I know. Tweek and I have been dealing with this shit forever.”

“Seriously, though, do you ever think about how most of us ended up into dudes in some capacity? Ain’t that somethin’.”

“Tweek thinks it’s supernatural interference,” monotones Craig. He’s back to that same emotionless robot-man as before, the same as always. Kenny ignores the small twinge of happiness, or pride, in his chest that he got to see him break, even if for a moment.

“Tweek’s a smart guy.”

Craig shrugs. “It’s just a statistical anomaly. Those happen sometimes.”

“Sure,” says Kenny, sarcastically. Their thighs are still pressed flush against each other, and Craig’s hand is resting upon his knee.

“Only sometimes. Hence why they’re called anomalies,” he continues.

“This fuckin’ town is an anomaly. You don’t even know the half of it, bud.”

He exhales a cloud of smoke with a disparaging sigh. “Clyde told me you-"

“I told you. Don’t.” Kenny lowers his voice to a near-growl. “There’s shit he wouldn’t be okay with. There’s stuff at play he couldn’t even comprehend.”

“Okay. I get it, you’re edgy. I’m just saying, don’t write him off.”

“Are you always this weird after you come?”

“What.” He stubs out his cigarette. It’s half-finished, and Kenny hopes he remembers to pocket it after Craig leaves. “What are you talking about.”

“Just wonderin’ what kind of strategy you're playing at. You’re gonna suck my dick like some porn star, then tell me I should date your best friend?”

“No, not date. Just stop being such a prick to him, is all.”

“Yeah, well, whatever.”

A few tense seconds pass, during which Craig has removed his hand from Kenny’s knee, and has began to rise to his feet. Kenny doesn’t know what it is, doesn’t know _why,_ but he doesn’t want Craig to leave. It isn’t that he likes him, because he doesn’t, not in _that_ way at least… but they could hang out. Craig sucked his cock like a champ, after all; how bad could he be to spend a few hours with? “Hey, so, uh. Wanna skip fourth with me?”

Craig glances down him with a curious expression. He opens his mouth, and closes it, and opens it again, his internal debate clearly visible upon his face, before inhaling, deeply, and shaking his head. “Some of us want to graduate this year,” he says, “See ya in lit. If you even go.” He zips up his jacket, this time, and nods at Kenny before turning his back.

“Wait,” Kenny calls out. Craig freezes, slowly turns, and his eyes are wide, perhaps even concerned. Kenny almost says it, almost tells him that he just doesn’t want to be alone, for _whatever_ fucking reason, but the words won’t come. “Bring your boyfriend next time, Fucker. You seem like the kinda freak who’d wanna get double-teamed,” he says, instead.

He finally smiles. Kenny isn’t sure if he’s ever _seen_ Craig smile, at least not since they were kids. He has a dimple on his left cheek, and his teeth aren’t crooked anymore. It’s nice. “So do you,” he says, before burying his hands into his pockets, and walking away.


	16. day thirty - toys (creek)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Craig is an anal slut, and Tweek wants to know how it feels. Takes place in some poorly-defined college AU, who cares, I know you’re all just here to read about Tweek getting railed.

Craig had shoved his online purchase into an old Macy’s bag, one of the small paper ones with the handles, and stuffed it his closet. It had been sitting there for a couple months, now, the white bag teasing him with its presence each time he opened the door. Craig is unsure why he picked today, of all days, to finally give it to Tweek; his boyfriend has to be stressed out from the play that was opening in a couple weeks, in which he has the first non-chorus role of his college career, and from the impending doom of midterms, and, well, just because he’s Tweek. His heart pounds as he checks his phone, and waits for Tweek to barge into his room. Normally, Craig wouldn’t be this clingy, or concerned, but Tweek’s voice lesson was supposed to have gotten out twenty minutes ago, and it was just one building over. _Where is he?,_ thinks Craig, playing with a spare thread on his blanket.

Craig supposes that he’s just a little anxious, and a lot excited about it. About what Tweek will say, what he will think, whether or not he will jump at the chance, or if it will take a little time, a little coaxing, a little reassurance. He hopes it’ll be the first one, that Tweek will blow off rehearsal, strip off all his clothing, and beg Craig to use the contents of the bag on him right then and there. Just the thought of Tweek beneath him, spread-out and flushed, makes him go half-hard in his jeans.

His door slams against the wall as Tweek enters his room, red-faced, like he’s been running. Every time Tweek does that, Craig cringes at the thought of having to pay a fine at the end of the year due to the inevitable dent in the wall from the door handle smashing into it over and over again.

“Hi, honey,” Tweek pants. He pauses a moment to glance into Craig’s mirror, frowning as he examines a spot on his jawline, before making his way across the room.

“Hey, babe. I got you something,” says Craig, unable to keep his voice from wavering a bit, and from an ear-to-ear grin to stretch across his face, although he still can’t quite meet Tweek’s eyes.

“It better be food, I’m fucking starving,” Tweek says, as he flops down next to Craig on his single bed, backpack tossed onto the floor, “I didn’t get out of my lesson til, agh, like five minutes ago and I rushed right here and, jesus. I’m so tired.”

“Baby, you’re ok.” Craig strokes his back, and instantly his shoulders slacken, the telltale tenseness that begins at the base of his spine and travels upward, making him hunch over and twitch, starts to melt away. “It’s not food. But I have some pizza in the fridge, if you want it?”

“Too much dairy!” Tweek whines, “Full run-through tonight. My _voice_ , man.”

“Mhmm,” says Craig, “You’ll be fine, it’s not a performance. Have a slice.”

Tweek reluctantly accepts, electing to eat it straight out of the box Craig somehow shoved into his mini-fridge, and, through a mouthful of cold pizza, says, “So. What’d you get me? Macy’s? Craig, you can’t afford, hng, like, a watch, or whatever!”

“It’s not a watch.” He takes a deep breath - it’s now or never. “You said you wanted to try, um. Well. Here.” Craig clears his throat, and thrusts the shopping bag into Tweek’s general direction. His face is flushed pink, eyes cast toward the floor, and he wrings his hands while Tweek reveals the gift’s contents.

Tweek eyes him suspiciously, crumpling the edges of the bag, but finishing his slice of pizza before unwrapping it. “You’re acting kinda weird, man,” he says, “Oh, sweet jesus, is it an engagement ring? You know we’re not, _ack!_ We’re not ready for that! I, I mean I love you, a lot, and I-”

“Oh my god, Tweek, would you just open it already!”

Tweek does, eyes going wide and a squeaky, high-pitched noise coming from him once he sees the box. Emblazoned upon the front is a picture of four black, silicone butt-plugs, of varying sizes, arranged smallest to largest. “What the _hell!”_ he shrieks, as he hastily shoves the box back into the bag. “Is that… me? Is that for me? To use!? On me? Jesus!”

“It’s an anal trainer set,” Craig mutters, through his teeth, like it is taking great pains for him to admit it, “I got it online, they were having a sale,” he adds, weakly, as if he’s trying to justify himself.

 _“Wah!”_ Tweek tugs on his hair, for just a second, before taking a breath to compose himself. Craig continuing to rub his back seems to help, or at least Craig hopes it does. “So... basically the idea is that I use these til I’m ready for that, ngh, that fucking monster cock between your legs?”

“I have a monster cock? Nice.” Craig’s momentary arrogance is humbled by the withering, piercing expression on Tweek’s face. “Um. Yeah. Yeah, that’s the gist of it. You said you wanted to try bottoming, but you were nervous, so, well, I thought this might help.”

He kisses Tweek’s forehead, trying to smooth away its ripples of worry with his lips. Whether or not said ripples come from the current situation or just all of the stress Tweek seems to constantly be under, Craig doesn’t know; but, it seems to work, as Tweek lets out a small, contented grunt, before pecking him on the lips.

“I mean I probably don’t have to start with the smallest,” muses Tweek, “J-just saying, I, ah jesus, I finger myself and everything and, ah _god_.” He hides his face, blushing pink, behind his hands.

Craig can’t help but smile, and then bite his lip, the image of Tweek’s fingers deep inside his hole, stroking his leaking cock with his other hand while he fucks himself into oblivion, emblazoned upon his brain. “Really? How often do you do that?”

“I, I, _nngh!_ ” Tweek burrows his hands into his hair, still trying to hide his face. “Couple times a week?” he squeaks.

“Can I watch you do it sometime?” Craig asks, excitement clear in his voice, “Can I do it _to_ you?”

“ _Aaaagh!_ Craig,” groans Tweek, “Stop, it’s embarrassing.”

“I don’t get why you’re so shy about it,” Craig muses, “You’re into some freaky shit, babe.”

“ _You’re_ into freaky shit!” Tweek snaps back.

“What an astute observation, considering I do said freaky shit _with_ _you,”_ deadpans Craig. He sighs, and snatches the bag back from his boyfriend. “Guess I’ll just use it on myself. I only thought since you were curious and all, you’d maybe want to try.”

“Whatever, Craig, you bought it for _me_ and I’m taking it with me!” With an affronted gasp, Tweek wrenches his present away from Craig, leaning down to stuff it into his backpack. “It’s not that I don’t wanna _try!_ I just… I… _raaagh_ !” He stands, in a huff. “I, I’m just gonna go to rehearsal early. I’ll come over tomorrow night because I think Jimmy’s having some _girl_ over,”

“Get some, Jim,” laughs Craig.

When Tweek kisses him goodbye, Craig thinks, for just a moment, that his fantasy of seeing Tweek fuck himself, or of using one of those toys on him is going to come true, that Tweek will stay, by the way he presses their bodies together fully, squeezing Craig’s ass and deepening their kiss enough that, when he pulls away, despite Craig’s protestations, there’s a string of spit still connecting them together. He leaves Craig panting, wanting, with a coy raise of his brows and a firm, but entirely too short press of his hand against the front of his jeans.

“We can try it,” Tweek says, with a smile, before walking out the door.

 

* * *

“Yeah, I was, okay, I was nnnngh, right? That I don’t need the smallest?” Tweek says a few days later, out of the blue. It’s the type of Saturday afternoon where it is easy to forget the looming deadlines of homework, especially when they’re holed away in Craig’s single dorm, blinds shut, lights dim, and music playing softly in the background. Craig is playing Mario Kart on mute, and Tweek is laying on the bed next to him, his legs resting on Craig’s lap, and head propped up by a stack of pillows. His laptop is resting on his thighs as he mindlessly scrolls, probably on one of those conspiracy websites Craig keeps _telling_ him are bad for his anxiety - not that Tweek _listens_ to him.

Tweek’s words send Yoshi flying off of rainbow road before Craig is able to pause the game. “What brought this on?” Craig asks.

“Don’t laugh,” Tweek says cautiously, “But I tried it? When, ah, when I was jacking off a couple days ago and it… It felt _so_ good.” He shuts and moves his laptop, gingerly, and sits up, not bothering to move his legs - in fact, he crawls right into Craig’s lap, legs on either side of him in a straddle. “Hi,” he says, shyly, before running his fingers through Craig’s hair, scratching his scalp in that perfect way that makes Craig feel content and just so, so happy and a little turned on, and pulling him in for a searing kiss.

They stay like that for a bit, entwined together, just exploring each others’ mouths with their tongues, taking turns nipping each other on the lower lip. Craig’s hands roam up and down Tweek’s back, beneath his shirt to stroke his smooth, warm skin, to feel each bump of his spine, while Tweek’s remain fixed in Craig’s hair, gripping tighter with each increasingly intense, wet kiss.

“Why would I laugh at that,” Craig whispers, mouth stretched into an astonished, wide grin, “That’s so _hot!”_ He kisses Tweek’s neck, chastely at first, and then deeper, sucking, nipping at the place where his neck and shoulder meet, making Tweek grind against him, grip his hair, and moan, softly. “Why didn’t you send me a picture or anything?”

“I was just jacking off, I don’t know!”

Craig chuckles, and pulls Tweek in again. This time, their kiss is frantic, hard; and, his hands travel lower, dipping beneath the elastic of Tweek’s lounge pants, to cup his ass. It’s pert and full and perfect, and Craig wants to be inside him, wants to spread those beautiful cheeks apart and lick and finger and fuck, and make Tweek beg and writhe and scream, and grind and thrust into him, against him, with him, until Tweek comes all over himself. The thought causes Craig to let out a stuttering moan into Tweek’s mouth, and Tweek does the same before breaking the kiss just long enough for both of them to peel off their shirts, staring at each others’ mouths as they do so, like they never want to separate.

The sensation of their bare chests pressed flush together, while incredibly familiar, is breathtaking release. Tweek rakes his nails down Craig’s back, giving him pins-and-needles shivers all over. They’re both rutting against each other, now, hips moving in slow circles. “Can I put my fingers inside of you?” Craig whispers in Tweek’s ear.

“ _What?!_ Now?”

“Yeah, now, why not,” Craig murmurs, “I wanna fuck you so bad, babe.”

“No, you may not!” Tweek sputters, “Can’t you just, I don’t know! Start, agh, _keep_ making out with me like a normal fucking person?”

“Mm, so you wanna make out, huh?” Craig teases.

“Make out and maybe fuck _your_ ass,” responds Tweek, with his silly, lopsided impish grin that always does Craig in. It isn’t as if that sounds like a bad idea, anyway; Craig loves getting fucked. Loves it more than anything, really, loves the sensation of being full and used and purposeful. He loves how Tweek knows every way to work him up, how he can somehow tell just by looking at Craig whether he wants it rough, degrading, and kinky, or slow, loving, and sexy, or some combination of the two. He always wants it, no matter how they fuck. He’ll use toys and finger himself between bouts of fucking, sure, but nothing compares to the sensation of his boyfriend. It’s like his ass was _meant_ to have Tweek’s cock inside of him.

He wants, so badly, to find out if Tweek will end up feeling the same about him.

But, for now, he agrees. It isn’t long before he’s prepared, stretched, and full and moaning underneath Tweek as he pistons his cock in and out, slow and hard. Craig never stops kissing Tweek’s lips, neck, shoulders as he’s fucked into ecstasy, moaning every time Tweek grinds against his prostate.

“I have an idea,” Tweek whispers into his ear. Craig about loses it when Tweek pulls back a bit to smile at him - he’s just so fucking gorgeous, always.

“Yeah?”

“What if I wore one to class sometime next week, and then came over? Got, ah, got all relaxed and ready for you to fuck me? Would you like that, Craig?”

He’s doing it again, talking dirty in a slow, warm purr of a voice that’s a far cry from his normal rushed anxiety, and saying Craig’s name like he owns him. Craig supposes he sort of does. It makes him feel warm and loved and like he’s about ready to burst, and when Tweek asks him again, asks him, “Want to fuck my tight little ass, Craig?” while pumping his cock and increasing his thrusts, deeper, faster, Craig does.

He spills all over Tweek’s hand with a drawn-out, “Yes, please.”

* * *

 

The door opens, and bangs against the wall. Craig is in his underwear and nothing else, burrowed under the covers in bed, waiting and barely able to contain his excitement. There’s a bottle of lube next to him, his _own_ toy shoved between the bed and the wall, and he’s so ready. He has never been _more_ ready. He wants to scream like a little girl at a boyband concert as soon as Tweek slams and locks the door behind him, and smiles all crooked and sexy in his direction.

“There was _no_ fucking way I was walking around all day with that… that _thing_ inside of me. The big one,” Tweek shifts uncomfortably, licks his lips, and tosses his backpack onto Craig’s desk chair. “So I, agh, I have the second biggest kinda shoved up there right now.”

Craig cannot control his grin. “That’s awesome, babe. How does it feel?”

“It’s fucking _weird,_ Craig! I just sat through directing seminar with a fucking buttplug in me; it’s super weird _._ ”

“It doesn’t feel good at all?” Craig furrows his brow in concern. He’s heard that not every man gets off from prostate stimulation; maybe Tweek is one of them The thought is disappointing, but nothing he cannot work with - after all, Craig knows he’ll always prefer bottoming. Then again, Tweek _did_ say that the last plug inside of him felt great. He sits up on his elbows, and pats the side of the bed, motioning for Tweek to join him.

“That’s what’s so weird about it, man, like ah, it’ll feel so good when I sit down or move and class was fucking _crazy_ because I kept like jumping but, ah, I think everyone figured it was just because it’s me? But otherwise it’s just kinda _there_.” Tweek, out of the blue, tosses off his shirt, and then his pants, before joining Craig in bed. They kiss, quickly, the reluctance to stop obvious in both of their expressions. They should talk about this, though, before they continue.

Craig shrugs. “I like that feeling,” he says. “Where’s the big one?”

“In my fucking _backpack_ and you have NO idea how freaked out I was that it’d, Christ, ack, roll out or something!” Tweek yelps, head twitching to the side.

“Get it,” Craig says, “I’m gonna put it in me. During.”

“The _big_ one? Jesus Christ, dude!” Tweek looks like he’s about to laugh, or about to pounce on Craig, or both. Instead, he trots the few feet to where his backpack rests, and opens it, with a tiny giggle.

“Yeah,” Craig grunts, eyes lighting up when he sees Tweek take the plug out, and give it a quick rinse in the sink, “C’mere, babe.”

Tweek smiles at him, coyly, plug in hand, and pulls off his briefs. Without a word, he turns around, and fucking _bends over_ . Fuck. _Fuck,_ it’s, by far, the hottest, sexiest thing Craig has ever seen in his entire life - Tweek’s hands spreading his cheeks apart, black base of the plug buried deep inside him, his beautiful ass full, waiting. It’s just for a moment, just a tease, just like Tweek himself is, the little bastard that Craig loves and wants so fucking much.

“Fuck, baby,” Craig moans, “Get your ass over here.”

Tweek sashays over like a damn pageant queen that just won the crown, plopping himself sidelong onto the bed with a series of tiny pecked kisses upon Craig’s face. He smiles when they break apart, and dangles the plug from his thumb and forefinger like he’s trying to hypnotize Craig… or at least make him beg for it.

Lucky for him that Craig loves to beg.

“Put it inside,” begs Craig, “Please?”

Tweek has that glint in his eyes again, the one that says, _you’re gonna have to earn it._

“Suck on it,” he says, that kinky little shit, and brings it to Craig’s mouth.

It tastes like nothing, and is no bigger than a cock, but thick enough at the base that Craig’s teeth scrape against it as he opens his mouth, not breaking eye contact with Tweek, who is gazing down with him in hungry arousal. He gags, a little, when Tweek suddenly pushes it all the way in, and then out, with a pop, but he doesn’t mind, not in the least. It’s awesome, as always, bending to the whims of his adventurous, perpetually horny boyfriend.

“You just need something _in_ you all the time, don’t you, Craig?” Tweek says, casually, as he reaches for the lube and spreads a generous coating over the surface of the toy. Craig’s blanket is casually tossed aside, and Tweek begins to slide down Craig’s body with kisses and licks upon every inch of his torso.

“Uh huh,” Craig groans, as Tweek sucks on his nipple.

“You’re totally gonna fuck me, but I get to use you a little first,” says Tweek, licking his hipbone.

“Use me,” echoes Craig. His cock is aching, throbbing, and his hole is open from earlier explorations, and he can’t wait until he’s filled again.

Tweek applies another smearing of lube between Craig’s spread legs, and slides it in, with a tiny gasp, no doubt surprised about the ease with which the plug enters him. Craig moans, carelessly loud, probably loud enough for his dumbass neighbor to hear them, when the widest part of the toy passes his hungry rim of muscle. “How are you so, Christ, so _loose_ , man?” Tweek asks.

“Fucked myself earlier,” he gasps, “Against the wall with that toy you gave me.” The plug inside him is absolutely perfect, the tip teasing his prostate with each movement. Craig’s going to go fucking insane, and he is going to love every minute of it. He’s so full, so stretched, and is torn between begging Tweek to just take him, right then, to bend him over and do whatever the fuck he wants, and following through with their original plan.

What they’d planned is what he wants, though, more than anything in that moment. He wants to fuck Tweek. Wants to be inside him, and make him feel just as good as he feels.

“Fuck,” rasps Tweek, “You like to _take_ it, don’t you.” Tweek kisses, licks, bites the same path upwards, exploring every plane and curve of Craig.

 _“Yeah_.”

“Mm.” Tweek kisses him tongue-first. “Bet you wished it was my cock inside you.”

“Love your cock inside me,” Craig says, reaching out to brush his thumbs against Tweek’s nipples. It’s an odd angle, given that Tweek is on top of him, but Tweek still twitches and throws his head back with a moan.

“Betcha wish I was bending you over right now instead of you fucking me.” Tweek props himself up on his hands, and it is then that Craig spots the telltale nervousness in his eyes, a tiny flash that only Craig can sense as the harbinger of anxiety. He’s derailing. He’s _nervous,_ and it’s fucking adorable.

“ _Tweek,”_ Craig says, smiling, “Shut up.”

“Could probably stretch you out enough to take _both,”_ Tweek continues, decidedly not shutting up.

 _“Tweek_ , come _on_ , I… wait.” There’s a thought. There’s a _good_ thought, a very good thought, of something Craig has wanted to indulge in for a while. “ _Can_ we? We should absolutely do that. Like. Heh. That would be _so_ awesome. I’ve always wanted to get dp’ed.”

“You’re an insatiable slut.” Tweek kisses his forehead, and then his lips. “I fucking love you. How do you feel?”

“Full,” Craig murmurs against his mouth, stroking Tweek’s hair, “Good. Really good”

“Ngh, yeah. Good boy. You’re such a good little bottom bitch, Craig. Not full enough, I bet,” purrs Tweek.

That always does him in, without fail, combined praise and insults and knowledge that Tweek likes it. Likes him, _loves_ him. “Tweek, ah, yeah, I’m good, I-” He gasps, and chews at his lip. His cock twitches against his stomach, and then against Tweek’s own, as he brings their hips together. Tweek squirts a little bit of lube between them, allowing their cocks to slide against each other, both gasping. “Fuck, baby…. C’mon, quit _derailing_. I wanna fuck you.”

Tweek stiffens atop him. _“Aaaagh,”_ he groans, dropping his head on the pillow, and then against Craig’s. Their eyes meet again, and Tweek’s brow is furrowed, a mix of undeniable arousal and equally obvious anxiety upon his face.

“Are you scared, honey?”

Tweek nods.

“Honey. _Baby._ Please don’t be scared. We don’t have to if you don’t want to. You can fuck me. God knows I’m always willing.” Craig reaches out to cup his face, skin freshly shaven and soft and beautiful against his hands.

“I want to,” Tweek says, in a small voice, “I really, _really_ want to.”

Craig pulls their mouths together again. Tweek’s hair is like silk around his fingers as Craig kisses him, trying to put every _I love you_ he ever could into that meeting of their lips. “You make me feel good every time. Now I’m gonna make you feel _so_ good,” he says, looking up at Tweek with pleading eyes.

It takes a moment, but Tweek blinks, and nods. His eyes clear, his brow softens. “Make me feel good,” he says, deliberately.

Still kissing, they switch places, Tweek laying prone underneath Craig, who at least had the sense to shove a pillow under his hips to hoist him up, to make him comfortable. It’s Craig’s turn to kiss down Tweek’s body, but he doesn’t go quite as slowly as Tweek does, because, second to wanting to fuck Tweek, he really, _really_ wants to suck his cock, which is leaking with ample precome. Craig laps it up, flattening his tongue upon the head before taking Tweek fully down his throat. He, as always, lets Tweek thrust upward and fuck himself into his mouth, but, this time, he rubs his fingers along Tweek’s perineum, and then around the base of the plug, pressing it into him. Tweek is moaning and gasping and pulling Craig’s hair with a string of dirty swears and, while this is fucking amazing, the fact of the matter is that they _don’t_ have a cock ring - Craig makes a mental note that they should maybe get a couple of those - and he doesn’t want Tweek to lose it before he gets a chance to be inside that perfect ass. He pulls himself off of Tweek’s cock with one final lick.

“I’m gonna take it out, okay?” Craig asks.

Tweek, face and chest turning pink, nods again, swiftly, surely.

He mewls when Craig grips the base of the plug and extracts it, sobbing a bit at the loss when it’s all the way out. He’s still tight, his hole puckering as soon as it’s out, but Tweek, to Craig’s surprise, immediately grasps Craig by the hips, lining up their bodies so that Craig’s still-aching cock is pressing between his cheeks. “Fuck me,” he says, in that same small, vulnerable voice, and Craig doesn’t waste any time, not while the opportunity is here.

He spreads Tweek apart with lubed-up fingers, inserting one, and then two - fuck, he was right that Tweek was still tight, even after the plug. Tweek arches into him, bearing his ass down upon his hand, although he is covering up his blushing face with his arm. Craig wants to add another, to see just how far he can stretch him, but Tweek lets out an impatient growl just as he’s about to do so.

“With your cock, Craig,” he says. His voice is beginning to return to the typically authoritative tone it tends to take during sex - again, not like Craig would ever complain about that - so, after adding yet more lube, making them both as wet and slick as he can, Craig does.

It’s heaven. Fucking _heaven,_ and, even though he makes one of his weird, cute little sounds of surprised frustration, Tweek seems to think so too, with how hard his hands are gripping Craig’s ass, taking him inside slowly, inch by inch, until he’s fully _there,_ cock fully sheathed inside his boyfriend’s hole which is just as wonderful, just as perfect as he’d imagined. With the plug deep inside him, it’s a dizzying array of beautiful sensations and Craig has no idea how long he can get himself to last.

For a few moments, they don’t move. They kiss, and Craig gives Tweek’s cock a few languid strokes. Tweek snakes his legs around Craig’s back, bringing him inside closer _still_ , which Craig didn’t even think was possible.

“Does it hurt?” asks Craig. Tweek doesn’t swat him away when Craig reaches out to take Tweek’s arm off his eyes. Normally a bright green, they’re so blown-out with arousal that they’re dark, really dark.

“Nuh-unh,” Tweek responds.

“Feel good?”

“Uh- _huh._ ” Tweek parts his lips, tilting his chin upwards, his signal that he wants another kiss.

Craig complies. He loves kissing Tweek, so much, and kissing Tweek while he’s inside him? God. _God,_ it’s amazing. It’s near-spiritual, and Craig feels a rush of nostalgia, of sentimentality, overcome him. “I remember the first time you were inside me,” he murmurs.

“C-Craig,” breathes Tweek, giggling a bit, “I came in like thirty seconds.”

“Doesn’t matter. I loved it. I love _you_.”

“Fuck me?” asks Tweek again, “Move. Make me feel good.”

He moves his cock in and out of his boyfriend, slowly, shallowly at first. Tweek’s eyes are wide open, face frozen in what Craig at first thought was fear, but slowly recognized as elation, what with the tiny open smile gracing his mouth.

“Feel good?” Craig repeats, earning another nod from Tweek.

“You can go faster if you want,” he gasps, “Go deeper.”

“Fuck, babe,” moans Craig, and does exactly that, and Tweek yelps, then grins, as he realizes exactly what Craig found.

“There it is,” he moans, “More.”

Craig obeys, increasing the depth, varying the pressure of his thrusts until Tweek is close, until his mouth is open, panting, his chest heaving up and down, his heels digging into Craig’s ass while he meets each thrust with a grind, or a circle, of his own hips. Mewling moans escape from his lips every few moments. Craig wants to hear more. Wants to make him fucking _scream_. He thrusts harder, as hard as he can, pounding into his boyfriend reckless and crazy and, rather than Tweek telling him to back off, he says, “Make me fucking come,” right into Craig’s ear. “Keep fucking me just like that.”

“Challenge accepted,” Craig manages to croak. He feels like if he talks at all, he’ll come. He grits his teeth, eyes closed, groaning and growling as he continues to pound, and wraps his hand around Tweek’s cock. It doesn’t take long, a few rough, yet lube-slick pulls before Tweek _does_ scream, screams Craig’s fucking name, _fuck,_ as he comes in shaking spurts, all over his stomach, just like Craig wanted.

The plug in Craig’s ass, with every thrust, presses against his prostate, and as soon as he grips Tweek’s hips and slams into him one final, hard time, harder than any other thrust he’d given, he feels like he’s fucking died, died and gone to heaven and came back, with how hard he comes. He vaguely hears himself say something about coming inside of Tweek, and Tweek might’ve said something back, but all Craig can concentrate on is riding out the orgasm that wracks through every single part of his body - his cock, his ass, his toes, his fucking _hair.._

Craig collapses upon Tweek in a sweaty, panting heap, staying inside him and letting his cock soften while he tries to come back to reality, to make his head stop swimming with the sheer intensity of the experience. Amazing. So amazing, so fucking incredible so...

Before he knows it, Tweek is tapping him on the shoulder. “Craig. _Craig._ You are so fucking heavy, get the fuck off me, man!”

“Wha?” He lifts his head, the room coming back into focus as he opens his eyes, and blinks. He rolls onto his back, yelping when he realizes that the plug is still inside him.

“You fucking passed out,” laughs Tweek, “You passed out with your, hng, with your dick in me, and that thing in your ass.”

“God,” groans Craig, voice gravelly with exhaustion, “Did you at least enjoy yourself?”

“Yeah. I’d do it again.” Tweek kisses his forehead. “I enjoyed myself a lot. I love you, Craig.”

“I love you too, baby.”

Tweek sits up. How the hell is he so _energetic_ after this? “So, about that double-penetration!”

“Oh my god, Tweek.”


End file.
